


Black Mirror

by DarthNickels



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jedi Temple, Self-Harm, Surgery, Trials, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 90,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthNickels/pseuds/DarthNickels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ghost crew returns to the Lothal when they hear the Empire is investigating the Jedi Temple there. They learn Vader is alone and decide to take him out-- but what they find could change the course of Galactic history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Their names are never spoken_

_The curse is never broken_

* * *

 

“Sure didn’t think I’d be seeing this place again,” Ezra remarked, somewhere above Hera’s right shoulder. “Well,” he amended, “at least not so soon.”

Kanan’s padawan (and wasn’t _that_ a weird thing to think!) leaned against the pilot’s seat, his eyes fixed on the dustball below.

“The workings of the Force aren’t always clear,” Kanan replied from co-pilot, as Hera punched in the fake ID codes for Imperial inspection. “Sometimes, not even to Jedi.”

They’d been with the larger Rebellion for a too-short three months before being sent back into the field. Hera balked at returning to Lothal, or going out on _any_ mission so soon after Kanan’s ordeal, but she knew that they were the best team for this planet—even if they were also the most well-known.

 _“I know it’s risky,” Ahsoka had said, her blue eyes steely. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I had a better option—if_ we _had a better option, but we_ don’t _. Can you handle it?”_

_Hera turned to where Kanan was standing in the door. His bandages were off after a dip in the bacta tank, but bacta couldn’t reach everything the Inquisitor had done. He nodded, just once._

_Ready or not…_

 “Ideally, we’ll be in and out. No crazy stunts, no Imperial entanglements. This is just a routine scout and report mission. Nothing crazy.”

“But that never works out for us!” Ezra protested. “Crazy is what we _do_!”

 “Not this time, it isn’t. Now quit leaning on my seat!” Hera scolded, swatting the boy’s hand away. Ezra feigned being hurt, but she just rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious. We’re getting our feet wet before we’re back up to shooting missions.” The Ghost was cleared to entire atmosphere, and Hera nudged her ship’s nose planetward.

“Things are going to be just fine.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hera saw Kanan wince. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Ezra muttered.

* * *

 

The mission had  _sounded_ easy. And so far, it _was_ easy—which was making everyone edgy and snappish.

_“There’s been reports of Imperial activity out in the wastes on Lothal,” Ashoka told them, holding out a datapad loaded with briefing information. She paused, holding it just out of Hera’s reach for a split second._

_“We captured a few transmissions. The Imps think they found a waystation Temple.” Hera whipped around, sending her lekku flying. Kanan blanched, his mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. His nostrils flared, but he said nothing._

_“I agree,” Ahsoka answered, though Kanan hadn’t spoken. “It’s profane.  But I’ll pull you all from this mission if you can’t put aside your outrage and get us the info we need.”_

_Again, Kanan said nothing. Hera took the datapad, but didn’t give it a glance._

_“It’s your call,” she said, softly. For a moment, Kanan acted like he hadn’t heard. Then he released his breath, sighing harshly._

_“There is a temple on Lothal,” he grated. “If the Imps got inside, it probably means they blasted their way in.”_

_“And if you can’t deal with that—“_

_“I can, Commander,” he said, cutting her off. “Ezra and I were the last Jedi in there. It’s our duty to protect those secrets.”_

_Ahsoka gave the two of them a long, considering look. “You go to the Temple, see what you can see, you get off-world before the Imps know you’re there. Those are the parameters of your mission; they are not subject to change. Am I understood, Captain Syndulla?”_

_Hera nodded. “Affirmative, commander. My crew is ready.”_

That was days ago. After 36 hours of monitoring the Imps (about five stormtroopers, standing around in shifts, doing _nothing_ ) everyone was starting to get a little testy. Hera had come up to take her shift only to find Zeb an Ezra taking their ire out on each other. Ezra euphemistically referred to these fights as “wrestling”, but given the enormous size difference it was more like him lashing out wildly while Zeb held him up by the scruff of his neck. Hera entered just as Zeb was taking a well-timed kick in the chest from the scrappy padawan.

“Front and center!” she snapped, arms across her chest. Both of her crewmembers started, looking guilty. Zeb’s ears drooped.

“If I find you derelict of duty again, I’m going to send you back to base and have you both peeling tubers for a month,” she said. “This isn’t a game. You could get us _killed_ slacking off like that.”

“Yes, Captain,” they chorused. They did seem genuinely remorseful, but she knew better than anyone that remorse didn’t get you out of an Imperial holding cell.

“Did you learn anything before you started horsing around?” she asked, her voice still sharp. Zeb stepped up.

“Same as always. They change shifts every two hours during the day cycle and every six hours at night. No one has come to or from the Temple. No one has left or entered the area.” Zeb held out his large, clawed hands, exasperated. “They’re just-- sitting around .Same as us.”

“They can’t even get into the Temple!” Ezra cut in, visibly frustrated. “Only a _Jedi_ could do that!” He gestured out the viewport of the heavily-camouflaged Phantom at the two troopers, now playing some kind of improvised card game. “And I don’t see any _Jedi_ out there!”

Hera raised an eyebrow. “I think Kanan has told you more than once to stop relying so heavily on what you _see_.”

Ezra had the good sense to look chastised. “I do sense something,” he admitted. “But not—I don’t know what it is! It feels like…the kind of energy before an electric storm, but _nothing’s_ happening! Just these two idiots-” he gestured emphatically again, “having a spitting contest!”

“It was an impressive display,” Zeb smirked, “I won twenty credits on the left trooper. Oh, I mean-- not that I was _gambling_ or anything--”

 Hera held up her hand for quiet.

“Do you think you and Kanan could work together and find out what it is you’re sensing?” she asked Ezra.

He shrugged. “We can try.”

“Good, go back to the Ghost. Zeb, you stay here.” The lasat looked like he wanted to groan, but remained stoic. “I’ll take your bet on Left Trooper.”

* * *

 

Six hours later, despite their best intentions, the plan went off the rails. _You shouldn’t have said it, Hera,_ Kanan might have scolded her, if they’d had the time. _You can’t say things like “nothing will go wrong”._ Everything _goes wrong for us!_

Sabine had been making her way through the tall grass, ready to take a shift in the Phantom, when a shrieking pack of lothcats came from out of nowhere, thundering past her—and naturally, drawing the attention of the two troopers. She dispatched them easily, but now there was only seconds before their comrades knew of their fate.

“We haven’t been able to ascertain whether or not they have long-range communications back up and running,” Sabine warned, in Hera’s ear. “If they make a call for backup we may not get off planet. It’s your call, Captain.”

What they needed was to survive, to live and fight another day. Taking out five troopers wouldn’t even be noticed by the Lothal garrison, much less the Empire at large. That casualty wasn’t enough to risk their cell.

But their _information_ …

Hera made the call. “Zeb, ready to break some heads?” the Losat cracked his knuckles, grinning viciously.

It was hardly a fair fight. In minutes there were two troopers out cold and the last conscious but bound, ready for interrogation. The five members of the Ghost crew looked down at the man (a human with bronze skin and an aquiline nose) with menace.

“If you’re going to kill me, then kill me. You won’t get anything out of me.” He declared, bravely.

Zeb cracked his knuckles again, smiling with all his teeth.

“I mean it!” the trooper insisted, sweating lightly now. “I don’t even know what’s going on!”

“Tell us what you do know, and you can live,” Kanan told him, stoically. The trooper considered for a moment, then slumped his shoulders.

“It doesn’t matter. Even if you let me go, I’m a dead man.” Hera almost felt sorry for the guy— _almost_. “Things are different since they sent in the new agent from Imperial Center. That guy’s killed more of us than you people ever will.”

Hera and Kanan exchanged glances. “An Inquisitor?”

“No. Worse. He’s got a laser sword, but he doesn’t even use it to kill you. People just _die_.”

Well, _that_ sounded terrible. “Tell us what you’re doing here and we’ll see if we can get you off-planet before they know you’re missing.”

“Promise?”

“We’ll _see_.”

“Ugh. _Rebels_ ,” the man muttered. “I guess I don’t have anything to lose. This isn’t what I signed up for, I’ll tell you that much.” 

The trooper leaned his head back for a second, closing his eyes.

“After the Jedi got away—guess that’s you, huh? Well, after you guys escaped, Tarkin brought in some Jedi hunter from Imperial Center—he’s a big deal in the Inner Rim, some guy said he was close with the Emperor, I don’t know. Tarkin told him to clean house here on Lothal, and he—he did.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t- it wasn’t right, the way they died. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. That’s not what I signed up for—”

“Why are you here?” Kanan cut in, sharply.

“Once Tarkin’s dirty work was taken care of, he said he wanted all the Jedi on Lothal rooted out. Vader said there was a Temple or something--”

The Trooper stopped. Everyone in the room felt the temperature drop. Hera went a light green, almost white, and Kanan’s hand closed around his lightsaber like a vice.

“ _Vader_?” he hissed. “Vader is _here_ on Lothal?”

Sabine and Ezra looked confused. Zeb seemed mortified, but held his tongue.

“Yeah. Darth Vader. He didn’t give us coordinates or anything, just told us to fly until he said stop. So we got to this mountain and he—he _lifted it up_ , and there was a door…”

Ezra looked appalled. So much for non-Jedi being barred from the Temple.

“…and it was _creepy_ in there--”

“Where’s Vader now?” Hera demanded, her eyes blazing.

“Still in the Temple, I guess. I didn’t see him come out.”

“You _guess_ —when did he go in?”

The Trooper thought for a moment.

“Five days ago,” he finally settled on. “I have no idea what he’s doing in there, and I don’t care to know.”

“Five days? He’s just been in there five days and you’ve been sitting around--”

“Well, it’s not like anyone could go back in to check up on him, could we?” the trooper shot back. “Vader saw something in there that made him act weird—not just _spooky,_ but…strange, I suppose.”

“What?”

The man shrugged. “Vader ordered us to follow him into the Temple. We got about ten minutes in before coming to a dead end—another cave, but this one had one side that was flat black stone, smooth and shiny like glass. Vader… just _stared_ at it. Just stood like a statue, _breathing_ , and acted like he couldn’t hear or see us. Then he went over and touched it—that doesn’t sound so bad, but trust me, it was. Then, after twenty minutes of ignoring us, he ordered us back out. The whole mountain shut behind us once we left and that was that.”

* * *

 

“Who’s Vader?” Ezra asked, the minute they were clear of their prisoner. Hera and Kanan exchanged glances. Neither of them had the words.

“I heard rumors,” Zeb said, ears pressed flat against his head, “that the Emperor had droid that could go through a hundred armed men like a laser sword through--”

“Vader’s no droid,” Kanan cut him off, harshly. “He’s a _Sith_.”

“Like the Inquisitor?” Sabine asked. “I mean, you took care of him alright.”

“No,” Hera said, quietly. “The Inquisitor is _nothing_ compared to Vader.” Kanan made a fist.

“When the Republic fell, Vader led the clones into the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” Kanan said, his voice low and cold. “He killed everyone there— _everyone_ \-- and he’s been butchering Jedi ever since.”

Ezra flinched. Hate rolled off Kanan in the Force, thick and suffocating.

“Master…?” he ventured, fighting to keep his voice level. Kanan took a long, deep breath, and the dark waves of emotion slowly subsided.

“Vader is dangerous—the most dangerous thing in the Galaxy. He’s the Empire’s greatest weapon, and this is our chance to _take him out_.”

“No,” Hera cut in, sharply. “There’s no way--”

“He’s been trapped in the Temple for five days with no food and water, and has no backup. He could be dead already.”

“And what if he’s not? What if you open the door and set him free? What if he--” Hera’s voice broke. She swallowed hard, and pressed on. “We need you alive more than we need Vader dead.”

                “You know that’s not true,” Kanan said, severely. “Ahsoka survived. There are others—there _have_ to be others…”

A tense silence hung between the five of them. No one dared to hope they could take out Vader, and strike a massive blow for freedom. No one wanted to think about what that victory could cost…

“We’ll report what we found,” Hera said, finally. “They’ll send reinforcements. We could--”

“By the time they send reinforcements it could already be too late!”Kanan exploded, slamming his fist into the Ghost’s hull. He took another breath, exhaling hard, before turning back. “I can feel it, this is _it_. This is our chance—our _one chance_ \- to avenge the Jedi.” Kanan paused, “or at least, to make it a little less easy for the Empire to kill us.”

Hera didn’t answer. She shut her eyes, her face touched with anguish.

“If you go, I go with you,” she said, finally.

“Me too,” Zeb growled, punching his fist in his hand for emphasis. “If I go down fighting, then it’s going to be fighting something crazy.”

 “I’m coming,” Sabine said. She ran a hand over the holster of her pistol. “I’m getting rusty, picking off stormtroopers.”

“Well, I figured it was a _given_ that I was coming, but-” Ezra started, but Kanan cut him off.

“No. There’s no way.”

“What?! You’re not serious—“

“Ezra, listen to me,” Kanan said, urgently. He placed a hand on his padawan’s shoulder, then took a knee so they could see eye-to-eye. “Vader is ruthless. He’s _killed_ padawans before—killed younglings…” Kanan took a deep, shuddering breath. “You have so much potential, but you aren’t _ready_. I’m your Master, and while I let you get into situations over your head…” he paused, wrestling with the depth of his emotions.

“I’m not letting you commit suicide for me.”

“Uh, I don’t know what you thought that last mission we went on was, but I’ve already done something stupid to save your life,” Ezra replied, wrapping his hands around Kanan’s. He gently removed the Jedi’s grip from his shoulder. “Do you remember the first time we went to the Temple? It wanted us _both_ —master and padawan. It won’t open for you alone.” Ezra squeezed Kanan’s hand, hard, before letting it go. “You can’t leave me behind on this one, Master. It’s against the will of the Force.”

Zeb raised his eyebrows, as if he wanted to say _did that little brat just school you on Jedi religion?_ but knew he ran the risk of getting smacked by Hera for ruining their moment.

Kanan’s face twisted, like he wanted to fight this—but just didn’t see how. He caved.

“Promise me something,” he said, finally. “Promise me that if we all go down doing this—don’t do anything stupid. _Run_. You run, and don’t stop until you’re lightyears away from this place, do you understand?”

Ezra nodded, solemnly.

“Then it’s done,” Hera said. “I’ll give upload our last report to Chopper, and if we don’t come back…” she paused, letting everyone take in the gravity of her words “he’ll get it to the Rebellion before the Ghost self-destructs.”

* * *

 

The five of them stood before the Temple, surveying the monument to the old religion. Adrenalin flooded their veins, made their grip on lightsaber or blaster or bo-rifle shake. Kanan and Ezra moved as one, and the mountain uncoiled before them, revealing a yawning chasm.  Zeb couldn’t contain a small, reverent “ _woah_ ”. Sabine tilted her helmet back, face unreadable beneath her visor.

“Last chance—does anyone want out?” Hera asked. No one answered. “Alright. Forward.”

Even the non-Jedi could sense the chance in the air when they passed through the stone entrance. Zeb was sensitive enough of Kanan and Ezra’s feelings not to say what he was feeling, but he did look at Sabine and mouth _creepy_!

“Stay close behind us,” Kanan said. “The Temple has accepted you, but it could still be dangerous.” Ezra had his eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly.

“I sense…” he trailed off, frowning. “I sense the middle passage is the one Vader took, but when I was here, it didn’t go anywhere like that buckethead described.”

Kanan shrugged. “I sense it as well. Trust your feelings, and I will too.” He motioned with two fingers, and the five of them fell into a loose formation.

The tunnel was different than the one Ezra had taken is first time in the Temple—different enough to make his stomach churn with unease. He wanted to tell Kanan, but somehow felt they shouldn’t break the silence for anything less than an emergency. Their footsteps echoed hollowly, disturbing the sleep of the ancient energies housed within.

It didn’t even take them ten minutes before they were in the cave the trooper had described. Ezra felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he looked into the huge black glass, about twice as high as he was tall and one and half times as long. He was drawn to it, magnetically—there was someone there, two figures on the other side of the glass!

“Ezra,” the voice made his heart skip a beat. He hadn’t heard it in years, but he _knew_ —he would _always_ know his mother. “Oh, baby, look at you!” she cooed, her eyes bright. “You’re so big…”

“We’re so proud of you,” he father said, coming into view behind her. “You’re more than we ever dreamed you would be. Ezra…”

“Ezra…” Behind them, their old home flickered into view—devoid of graffiti and Imperial edicts. He took a step forward, and the glass melted away.

“Ezra…” He could almost touch them---

“EZRA!” he heard a harsh crack and pain exploded across his face. He stumbled, almost falling, blinking furiously. When he stood, his parents were gone.

“What was that for?!” he demanded, rubbing his cheek. Sabine shrugged.

“What else was I supposed to do? You were _gone_ for a second.” Nearby, it looked like the same scenario had played out between Kanan and Hera. “Both you and Kanan just went slack, like you went offline or something. Did you see something weird?” Ezra’s heart clenched a little at that.

_Oh baby, look at you! You’re so big…We’re so proud of you…_

“Kanan?” Ezra asked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. “What just happened?”

Kanan broke away from where Hera was tending his jaw (and the injuries she herself inflicted) to his padawan.

“I’m not sure, kid,” Kanan admitted, fighting to keep his own voice steady. “I saw something.”

“Like a vision?” Sabine asked. Kanan shook his head.

“No…not like any vision I’ve ever had,” he answered, softly.  Zeb, Sabine and Hera seemed torn between their Jedi and his padawan; they knew something was _wrong,_ but had no way of helping.

“I saw my parents,” Ezra admitted, quietly. “But not—it was like they were there! Like I could just--”

“Walk into the mirror?” Kanan asked. Ezra nodded. “Me, too. Well, I saw the Jedi Temple on Coruscant—and some of the people I left behind there.”

They shared a fleeting second of silence. Their three companions wanted to comfort their Jedi, but couldn’t—not when the danger of their mission had not yet abated.

“Why would the Temple show you something like that?” Hera asked, concerned.

Kanan shook his head, frowning. “I’m not sure.” He hesitated, looking at Ezra. “We both saw things we want—things we can’t have.”

Ezra snorted, pretending like the words weren’t a fresh slap.

“In the Old Republic, a padawan had to undergo a number of trials to prove they were worthy of becoming a Jedi,” Kanan went on, looking at the mirror. Its surface was dark and still, reflecting back only the figures of the Ghost crew. “I heard there were places…places where the Force wasn’t just _strong_ , but alive and flowing, that served as testing grounds.”

“Testing us for what? To make sure we don’t—want things?!”

Kanan didn’t answer, but his expression did. “Are you _serious_?”

“Talk Jedi stuff later,” Zeb cut in, harshly. “What does this have to do with where Vader is?”

“Well, we know he’s not _here_ ,” Sabine answered, gesturing the length of the chamber. “Split up and search?”

 “No!” Kanan and Hera answered, simultaneously. “I think,” Kanan went on, slowly. “I think he _is_ still here…”

Zeb threw up is hands. Ezra understood the feeling.

“Look, the trooper said Vader was obsessed with the mirror,” Kanan snapped. “He was _fixated_ on whatever he saw in there. That means he failed the test. Usually, there aren’t second chances for padawans who fail the trials.”

“ _Are you kidding me_ \--?!”

“Not _now_ , Ezra!” Kanan walked to the mirror, laying a hand against the perfectly smooth surface.

“I think he’s in here.”

“ _What_?”

“Then we can go back, right?” Sabine asked, pulling off her helmet. “Vader’s trapped in a magic mirror, I’m gonna call that a win for us.”

Kanan shook his head. Zeb groaned.

“ _You said_ there weren’t second chances for failing a trial!”

“I said _usually_. But I can sense him, so he isn’t dead.” Ezra didn’t want to admit it, but he sensed Vader too—or rather, he sensed a fierce, wild darkness, like a stormcloud crackling with lightning.

 “Even if he can’t get back out on his own,” Kanan continued, “his master will know he’s still alive- and come back for him.”

“His master?” Sabine asked.

“The Sith Lord behind the Clone Wars, the one who holds Vader’s leash.” Kanan answered, darkly. “There are _always_ two.”

Ezra decided not to mention the Inquisitor, though he still wasn’t sure how this all fit together. “You think Vader’s master could find him and drag him back out?”

“I know so,” Kanan put a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “I could—and _would_ \-- do the same for you.”

“So where does that leave us?” Hera asked.

“We drag Vader out first,” Kanan replied, smoothly.

“Kanan—”

“I know. I know it’s crazy, but coming down here in the first place was already crazy,” he said, raising his chin. To Ezra, the Force around his master seemed to brighten. “We’ve got one chance to take Vader out of this war for _good_ \- no maybes, no chance he’ll come back.” Kanan looked around, meeting the eyes of each of his crew members.

“We either have to take the risk now, or later.”

“And what’s the plan?” Hera asked.

“We go in after him.”

“No! You said people don’t come back from these things! Vader’s one of the most powerful Force-users there is, and _he_ can’t get out! How do you know you won’t just be sucked in forever?”

Kanan flashed her a cocky grin. “I’ve got something I’m even more attached to on this side of the mirror.”

“I should sock you again,” Hera said, with an equal mixture of exasperation and fondness. “Alright, we’re in.” Again, Kanan shook his head.

“Only Ezra and I saw something in the mirror. We’re the only ones who can interact with it.”

“Just the two of you against Vader?” Hera was more than uneasy. “Kanan…”

“We’ve got the drop on him, and we’re actual Jedi. We can do this,” he said. “Just be here ready to take him down once we come back through.”

Hera met his eyes, determined. “You’d better come back, then. I don’t feel like waiting around in this place.”

Kanan smiled, then turned to his padawan. “Ezra,” he said. “I think you can do this. But if you aren’t sure, you should stay behind.”

The image of his parents, warm and inviting but so utterly _not real_ , floated in his mind’s eye. He _was_ uneasy, but staying behind was never an option. “Lead the way, O Jedi Master.”

“Don’t push it,” Kanan muttered.

Zeb and Sabine wished them luck, both unusually subdued. Ezra and Kanan stood together, only about a foot from the mirror, staring into its inky depths.

“So…how are we doing this?” Ezra asked through gritted teeth.

Kanan closed his eyes, laying a hand back against the mirror.

 _Reach out with your senses_ , he heard Kanan’s voice in his head say, _let it know what you need_.

Ezra mimicked Kanan, closing his eyes and laying a palm against the glass.

 _I need to find Vader_ , he thought. Then: _uh, please_?

For a second, nothing happened. Ezra fought back the urge to say something about how stupid he felt. Just when he was ready to give up, the surface beneath his hand fell away—

And, more importantly, the _floor_ fell away—

And he and Kanan where falling down, down into an infinite darkness.

* * *

 

Ezra landed on his feet with a soft thump, almost sticking the landing, but lost his balance and stumbled at the last minute. _Next time_ , he thought to himself. Luckily, there was no one around to see.

Ezra brushed himself off, idly, taking in his surroundings. Back in his old house again, it seemed. Sunlight streamed in through unbarred windows, and the air felt alive rather than stale. He breathed deeply—even the _smell_ was right, just as he remembered. Ezra did his best to shrug off the feeling of grief that crept over him.

 _Things we want—things we can never have_ …

“This is _definitely_ a part of Jedi training I could skip,” he muttered to himself. No, he was getting distracted. Focus. Assess the situation: he needed to meet back up with Kanan before he met this Vader guy. It wasn’t likely that Kanan was here, in his parent’s house. He allowed himself one last look around, ignoring the twinge of pain in his heart. He was desperately tempted to stay, just a few more minutes…

He heard a cry outside, from the back of the house, and the sounds of a fight. His mother burst through the back door of the house, dress singed, breathing heavily.

“Ezra! Ezra, come with me! They found us- they found out about us. Come with me, sweetie,” she held out her arms to him. “We have to run find your daddy now.”  

Ezra hesitated, just for a second- it was so real!- but took a half-step back, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Mom. You’ve been gone for eight years.”

“I’ve been—what? No--” a blaster shot shattered one of their windows. “Ezra, please! Hurry! We have to get your father and get out of here!”

“We’re not going anywhere together,” he repeated, mostly for his own benefit. His heart ached. He was bigger now, _stronger_ , this time he could save her, and his dad, and they—

_Things we want—things we can’t have._

The door burst open, and storm troopers flooded into his house. They leveled their blasters at his mother and she screamed for him one last time, tears rolling down her face—

And then, mercifully, the scene faded away, leaving Ezra on a large stone pavilion. The sun was blazed down from high above, and his eyes watered trying to adjust from soft late-afternoon light. That’s what he told himself, anyways, about the tears he scrubbed away.

                Where _was_ he? He stood before a huge stone staircase, leading up to a towering building adorned with statues and carvings. Five spires jutted into the sky. You could have fit Capital City inside—with room to spare!

“Can I help you?” a voice asked, coolly. Ezra turned around—

 “Oh, no _way_. I do _not_ believe this.” Ezra grinned from ear to ear. “What are you _wearing_?”

The kid in front of him was definitely Kanan, but his beard, ponytail, and gear were gone. Instead, his hair was buzzed short (except for a little tail behind his ear, come _on_ ) and he wore a cream tunic with his hands tucked in the sleeves.

“Nice one, Kanan. When were you going to tell me about the haircut?”

“I’m sorry?” Kanan said, incredulously. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else. The Jedi Temple--”

“Oh,” Ezra said, craning his head back around to get a second look at the magnificent edifice. “So that’s the Corcuscant Temple?” He considered for a brief moment. “It’s beautiful, yeah, but we really have to go now.”

“Very well. I’m sure your… _tour group_ will return shortly--”

“Are you really going to be like this? Come on, Kanan, we gotta go!”

“I _am_ sorry,” Kanan answered, with full sincerity. “But once again, I am not your friend.”

Ezra hadn’t expected those words would hurt him like that. He smarted, but he also had a bigger problem to deal with right now. If Kanan fell under the spell of the mirror, that would be very, very, bad for the both of them.

He took a deep breath.

“OK, I’m gonna need you to listen closely to me, Kanan. Or…not-Kanan. _Whoever_.”

 “My name is Caleb--”

“OK that’s great, but there’s the thing,” Ezra took Kanan’s face in his hands, looking him dead in the eye. “I don’t _need_ Caleb right now. I need Kanan Jarrus, my Jedi Master, to pull it back together and help me defeat Vader.”  

“You think I’m your _Master_?” Kanan asked in total disbelief, squirming free. “I don’t know who you are, but—“

“That’s not true. Look at me. _Look at me.”_ Ezra grabbed Kanan’s hand, cutting off any escape. “You know me. This isn’t real, OK? I know it’s great, and you want it to be real—and I do too, kind of—but it’s just not. It just can’t be.”

Kanan hesitated, biting his lower lip. He furrowed his brow.

“…Ezra?”

“Caleb!” A voice called. A stately woman, dark hair in braids, appeared at Kanan’s shoulder. She wore long brown robes and looked down on Ezra with cool dark eyes.

“Who is this, Padawan? Are you helping lost travelers again?”

“No Master—“

“Kanan! Look at me! _That’s not your master_!”

The woman looked down, quizzically. “Why does he call you Kanan?”

“No—hey! You! Butt out!” Ezra didn’t think he should be quite so rude to a Jedi Master, but he didn’t have _time_ for this. “Look at me! Your master is gone, Kanan! She’s gone! She—I’m sorry, but she’s not coming back!” Kanan looked between his Master and Ezra, confused and more than a little scared. Ezra thought he might collapse under the weight of his feelings, torn between his own fear at seeing his master look so lost and his empathy for Caleb’s hurting.

“I need you to come back to the present. Your Master is in the past, Kanan. You have to leave her there.”

“You’re not ready to leave yet, Caleb,” the Jedi Master said. She ran her hand across Kanan’s short-cropped hair. “There’s still so much you don’t know. Come back inside.”

Kanan’s raw grief was written on his face. Ezra was afraid he might cry. “Master Deppa,” he choked, his voice thick. “I can’t…”

Kanan gave the Jedi one last, sad look. Then he closed his eyes, much as Ezra had done—

The world shifted again. Kanan was back—and once again towering over his padawan (which Ezra _really_ could have done without, but he preferred it to being trapped in a magic mirror forever, he guessed).

“Ezra…” he started, rubbing his temples. “I’m so—“

“No,” Ezra cut him off. “It’s not your fault. Also, I really don’t want to talk about what I saw just yet.”

Kanan heaved a heavy sigh. “It was so real.”

 _And I wanted it to_ be _real_ hung unspoken between the two of them. They wanted it so _badly_ …

“Vader,” Kanan finally said, cutting through the silence. “We have to find Vader.”

“Right as always, Master,” Ezra replied, with a glibness he didn’t feel. After all they’d been through, there was no way there were walking out of here without completing the mission.

But how were they going to find Vader _here_? Kanan and Ezra stood in the middle of a huge grassy plain—but not the dry, yellow grass of Lothal. The grass here was a rich, brilliant green, and the sky was a clear crystal blue, dotted with soft white clouds. There was a shimmering lake about five hundred feet from where they stood, and beyond that crashed a distant waterfall.

“I was expecting to find the Emperor’s worst guy in…well, a place that wasn’t this,” Ezra commented. Kanan’s brow furrowed.

“We should have stopped to think about what a Sith Lord’s most desperate wish was,” he said, hand hovering over is lightsaber. “I admit, even if we had, this would not be at the top of my list, or…on it at all. But we should proceed carefully,” he raised an eyebrow at Ezra. “Appearances can be deceiving.”  

Ezra unclipped his own lightsaber. “I see people, over there,” he said, pointing. “Maybe they know something.”

Master and Padawan approached the three figures, sprawled comfortably on blanket by the lake’s shore. Two of them were dressed like the Jedi Ezra had seen in Kanan’s vision of the Temple- one in cream, another in dark colors- while the third, a woman, wore a loose gown. She sat close to the Jedi in the cream, with the dark Jedi’s head in her lap. The two of them, the woman and the bearded man, were totally absorbed in their third companion. They stroked his hair, touched his face, planted soft kisses on his brow. Ezra looked and Kanan, bewildered.

“So, uh…which one is Vader?”

Kanan looked equally lost. “I, uh…”

“How do you not know?”

“None of them are dressed like him!”

“ _What_ —“

They were interrupted by the pitter of small footfalls from behind. Two toddlers blew past Ezra and Kanan, each carrying an armful of wildflowers.

“Mommy! Daddy! Papa!” They cried. “Look! Look what we found!”

The man in black sat up, smiling lazily. “How beautiful,” he said, accepting a bright red blossom. He held it to his nose and inhaled in an exaggerated movement. The children shrieked with laughter.

“Are you telling me _that’s_ Vader?” Ezra asked, with incredible skepticism.

“Maybe there are other people trapped in the mirror,” Kanan replied, sounding hopeful. But they both sensed it: the Force rippled dangerously around this man, like a deadly riptide running beneath gentle waves.

It was him.

Vader had the two children enveloped in a bear hug. He didn’t seem to notice Kanan and Ezra at all—or if he did, he just didn’t care. The Jedi team moved in, lightsabers in hand.

“Get up,” Kanan ordered, trying to keep his voice level. Ezra felt that same surge of white-hot anger from his master once again, but this time it was being held in check.

Vader looked up. He frowned. “Who are you?”

Kanan shifted into a dueling stance, ready to move. “We’re Jedi.”

 Vader scoffed.  “I don’t care. Go away.” He lay back down, looking up at the sky.

Ezra didn’t take his eyes of their opponent, even though he really wanted to look over at Kanan and make sure he was hearing this all correctly. Kanan nodded, and they both ignited their lightsabers.

Neither weapon responded.

Kanan drew in a quick hiss of breath through his teeth. They were unarmed. It was unlikely they’d be able to kill Vader while still inside the mirror, a world that seemed to have its own rules. The only chance they had was to get him back out.

Kanan confronted him again. “Vader—“

 _That_ got the Sith’s attention. In half a second Vader was up on his feet, his face only centimeters from Kanan’s. “Leave,” he hissed, his voice heavy with menace. “You have _no right_ to be here.”

Ezra was proud of the way his master stood firm, only tilting his chin upwards. “You’re coming with us.”

Vader snarled. He struck Kanan against the face— _hard_. Hard enough to send him flying. Ezra felt a wave of panic tear through him at the sight of Kanan in the grass. His master struggled back to his feet as Vader advanced.

“Daddy?” a tiny voice asked. Vader immediately knelt down so he was eye-to-eye with the dark haired little girl. “Daddy, what’s going on?”

Ezra didn’t think, he let the Force guide his attack. He slammed into Vader, trying to knock him to the ground, but only succeeding in grabbing the Sith around the torso. Vader snarled again, a distinctly feral sound, but Ezra’s contact with him was causing the vision to go haywire. The little girl with the wide brown eyes flickered in and out of existence, like a bad holo transmission. Vader immediately stopped trying to claw at Ezra, reaching out to the vanished toddler.

“NO!”

The man and the woman, as well as the little boy, were now flickering as well. They called out to Vader, urgently, but Ezra couldn’t make out what they were saying. The brilliant colors of the grass and sky were fading and dimming.

“Let me go!” Vader yelled, frantic. “What are you doing?! Let me go! Stop! _STOP_!” It was all Ezra could do to hold on for dear life. Kanan joined him, grabbing Vader’s arm, twisting it behind the other man’s back.

“Ezra!” he shouted, over Vader’s cries. “Focus! Visualize the cavern with the rest of the crew!”

Kanan’s mind brushed against his own, and together they thought of the harsh stone walls, where the rest of their crew as waiting for them. He felt the warmth of the sunshine cut in and out, the soft air become stale and damp…

Ezra hit the stone floor of the cavern with a groan. His heart soared as he heard the voices of the crew cry out—finally, some backup! But their mutual relief was short lived. The excited chatter of the Ghost crew was cut short by the most awful sound Ezra had ever heard—a mechanical, hissing breath.

Ezra sat up, and immediately understood why Kanan hadn’t been able to recognize Vader—and why Zeb assumed he was a droid. The man in the Jedi robes was gone, replaced by a hulking, armored figure. Vader was down on one knee, a hand placed against the ground, while a respirator cycled steadily. Kanan stood over him, lighstaber ignited.

“ _No_.” Ezra thought he could hear Vader’s mechanized voice in his bones. “NO!” He surged to his feet, but instead of going for Kanan or the crew he whirled around, facing the mirror. The smooth surface was no broken by a single crack, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

“No!” Vader shouted again, placing both hands against the black glass. Nothing happened. “No, no, no, no, no—“ he took a step back, before launching himself at the mirror, striking it with his shoulder. He scrambled back, and tried it again. And again.

Ezra looked at Kanan, then Hera, Zeb and Sabine. The others had their weapons drawn, trained on Vader, but they looked even more confused than he and Kanan were. No one really knew what do, watching Vader throw himself again and again at the unyielding glass, desperate to get to the other side. He gave up trying to charge his way through and settled on pounding against it with his fists, never ceasing his agonized litany. The glass must have been viciously sharp—contact with the widening crack in the middle of the mirror shredded his heavy synthleather gloves, revealing the gleam of prosthetic hands beneath.

Zeb looked at Kanan, making a quick hand sign. Kanan nodded. Zeb was the only member of the team who matched Vader in size. They moved in together, while Sabine and Hera fanned out. Each had their blasters up, ready to fire.

Zeb came in close, almost close enough to strike, when Vader let out a wordless cry and struck him hard across the face. Ezra heard an evil-sounding _crunch_ and the Lasat went down, his large hands flying to his face. Ezra could see blood leaking profusely between his fingers. Sabine and Hera opened fire, but Vader didn’t seem to care—both of them were thrown backwards with the Force, striking opposite ends of the cave with identical, sickly _crack_ s. Ezra opened his mouth to shout, but couldn’t draw breath. A giant invisible hand closed around his throat, and he was lifted an entire foot off the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kanan clawing at his own throat. Ezra reached for the Force but it was too far, he couldn’t grasp it—Vader’s darkness suffocated him, pressing down on his mind.

“ _You_ ,” Vader snarled, and Ezra knew he was going to die. His lungs were on fire, and dark spots began to eclipse his vision. “You will _suffer_ —“

He heard blasterfire—Sabine and Hera were managing to squeeze off a few last shots. But either they were too badly hurt to aim right, or Vader just shrugged off multiple direct hits, because the grip on Ezra’s throat never wavered, and he felt Vader’s dark energy lash out in the direction of the shooters. He struggled, but this was the end. His flailing legs only struck out against thin air, and he didn’t have the strength to claw at that invisible hand any longer. It was over. He agreed to the mission knowing this could happen but he hadn’t really, hadn’t known, he was really going to die here don’t let me die don’t let me die dontletmetdie—

Someone heard his prayers. The iron hand on his throat released him and he fell to the ground, choking and sobbing. There were new voices in the cavern, and a renewed hail of blaster fire, but he couldn’t even crawl away from the firefight. All he could do was lie there and gasp, trying to take air into his lungs faster than they could use it. _Alive_ , he thought, hysterically, _alive alive alive alive_ —

Ezra watched Vader take one, two, three blaster shots directly to the chest. The control box in the middle of his armor sparked and began to smoke. He staggered forward a few more steps, then fell to his knees, and then finally the Sith was on the ground. Ezra heard the whine of two lightsabers being deactivated.

“We need a medic over here!” Commander Tano shouted, standing over him like a Jedi guardian of old. She knelt down, taking Ezra’s face in her hands. “Stay with me, padawan. It’s over. Stay with me. You’re safe. Stay—“

Ezra croaked something that might have been “sorry” before passing out.

* * *

 

Days later, Commander Tano’s gentle and worried demeanor was gone.

“That was a reckless and dangerous stunt you pulled,” she said, arms folded across her chest. The crew of the Ghost stood before her, standing at attention as best they could, ready to take their scolding. Ezra thought privately that the massive beating they’d taken trying to capture Vader was punishment enough. Even after a dip in the bacta tanks, the team was swathed in bandages, casts, and braces. Three quarters of Zeb’s face was still swathed in bandages (only emergency surgery had saved is eye, the medic said), while Kanan and Ezra sported bloodshot eyes and a thick ring of bruises around their necks. They were a sorry sight.

“And _stupid_. Did I mention stupid?” Tano went on. “I made the parameters of your mission very clear, and you flagrantly ignored them. You didn’t even stop to _look_ at them when you blew past.” She paced, her arms clasped behind her back. “If I hadn’t been able to look at your report the second your droid uploaded it, you’d be _dead_. And you would have been grateful to be dead—no one withstands Vader’s torture. If he’d captured you, you would have told them _everything_ , and any chance of opposing the Empire would have been utterly destroyed. _That_ was the real risk you took.” She paused, letting the full effect of her words sink in.

“Captain Syndulla, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Hera straightened, but it was difficult to do in a neck brace. “I take full responsibility for my actions and the actions of my crew.” She said.

“Glad you understand, because you are _grounded_ ,” Ahsoka said, jabbing a finger in his direction. “That goes for _all_ of you. The Ghost doesn’t fly until I know you and your crew can follow orders. None of you will be permitted to leave the perimeter of this base until the fallout of your stunt has been mitigated, or until otherwise ordered. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Commander.”

The former Jedi looked at each of them in turn, forcing them to meet her unflinching, icy gaze. “We aren’t here for ourselves. The fate of the Galaxy rests on our shoulders—your shoulders. Revenge,” with that word she pointed her glare at Kanan, “will only get you killed. I need soldiers, not martyrs. Dismissed!”

The battered crew trudged at the door, relieved to be released at last.

“Yeesh,” Zeb was the first to break the silence. His unbandaged ear was pressed close to his skull.

“We got Vader,” Sabine said, trying hard to keep frustration out of her voice. “I don’t understand why—“

“Because _we_ didn’t get Vader,” Hera said. Her voice was quiet, but sharp. “The commander is right. If Vader had taken even _one_ of us prisoner, the entire Rebellion could have been jeopardized. It was a stupid, risky, selfish thing to do.”

“But you don’t regret it one bit,” Kanan rasped, his voice still sore from being strangled. Half his face was still swollen from where Vader had stuck him, but he managed half a grin.

“Not _now_ , Kanan!” She snapped. “This isn’t a _game_. Ezra’s just a kid and we almost got him _killed_!” Ezra wanted to protest, but wasn’t sure he understood how the quaver in Hera’s voice made him feel. “Sabine’s not much older herself. What right do we—“

She stopped, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to my quarters. The rest of you—do the same. The faster you recuperate, the faster we can get out of here.” She turned on her heel and stormed off. Zeb and Sabine trailed after her, thoroughly chagrined.

Kanan let out a long breath. “She’s not wrong,” he said, in a measured tone. He turned to Ezra. “If I had known Vader was _that_ powerful, I wouldn’t have let you get within a million lightyears of him. I screwed up—bigtime.”

Ezra didn’t say anything. There was a part of him that would have been happy to let this all be Kanan’s fault—to pretend like he wouldn’t have done anything to be at his Master’s side, confronting Vader.

Being mad at Kanan would be so much easier than admitting Vader scared him.

Kanan sighed again. “Silent treatment,” he remarked, trying to keep his voice light. “Guess I do deserve that.” He moved to walk away.

“No!” Ezra shook his head. More than anything, he didn’t want to be alone right now. “It’s not that…”

Kanan tilted his head back- then immediately regretted it, wincing at how it made his bruised neck scream.

“Then what is it?”

“What was going on with the mirror?” Ezra blurted out. “I mean—why do the Jedi _have_ something like that?”

Kanan rubbed the unbruised side of his face. “The Jedi of the Republic discouraged.... _emotional_ attachments,” he explained, fumbling a little.

“Why?”

“Because- unfettered, things like anger, or fear, or being too dependent on someone can open you up to the Dark Side.”

“What?!”

“Ezra,” he said, quietly. “You remember what happened in the cave, with the fyrnocks and the Inquisitor?”

Ezra did remember. He remembered that _very_ clearly.

“This was different,” he said, stubbornly. “I—I saw—“ he screwed his eyes shut, gathering his strength.

“In order to get out of my vision and find you, I had to leave my parents behind,” he admitted, finally. He couldn’t look Kanan directly in the eye, but he saw his master’s face fall.

“And you—you had to leave your Master, and it wasn’t…” Ezra made a sound of frustration that tore at his healing throat. “It wasn’t fair!”

Gingerly, trying to avoid both sets of bruises, Kanan draped and arm around Ezra. “It wasn’t,” he said, simply. “None of this has been fair to you. And I—when this is over, we’ll talk about the finer points of the Jedi Code.” Kanan reached down, gently lifting Ezra’s chin.

“Being a Jedi means you have to be ready to let the things you love go, in order to serve something greater than yourself,” he said, softly.

“I’m ready to sacrifice,” Ezra declared, boldly. “But I’m _not_ ready to do that to people I love.” He shook his head. “My parents—my friends... I’m supposed to what, not be _attached_ to them? That’s just not something I know how to do.”

Kanan grinned at that. “Well, you are still a padawan. You don’t have to get everyting right just yet.”

Ezra huffed. “I wouldn’t have signed up if I knew you were going to hold this padawan thing over my head the whole time,” he groused.

“Perks of being a master,” Kanan said, with a shrug that ended in another wince. His easygoing grin faded, revealing a careworn, worried expression beneath.

“Ezra—“ he started, softly, but the jangle of his commlink tore through the moment. Kanan rolled his eyes, exasperated, before bringing the holo to life.

“Jarrus, Bridger,” Commander Tano didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. “We’re ready to debrief you. Come to the secure comm deck.” Her image winked out abruptly.

Ezra and Kanan shared a confused look. “Why did she wait so late for a debrief?” the padawan asked. “We got let out of medical a few hours ago.”

Kanan shook his head. “Only one way to find out,” he answered.

* * *

 

They reached the communications deck in record time, but Tano was still agitated. She stood off in the corner of the small room (really more like glorified closet), arms folded across her chest. She tapped her foot impatiently while three different techs worked on a large holo-platform in the center of the room.

“We’ll be ready to send a transmission in just a minute, Commander,” one of the techs told her, not looking up from his work. “Pretty soon this will be the most impenetrable signal in all of known space.”

“It had better be,” the Jedi replied, clearly struggling to keep from snapping. “Too much is riding on this for failure.” She crossed the room in a few brisk steps.

 “After we rescued your team,” she started, in a way that heavily implied she was tired of rescuing their team, “I contacted Rebel Command to discuss the next steps regarding Vader.”

“What next steps?” Ezra interrupted, without thinking. “Vader’s dead.”

Commander Tano shot him an incredulous look. “No, he isn’t,” she said, with more than a hint of impatience. “He’s in an induced coma in the holding cells. It was the only way to keep him down without killing him.”

Ezra’s throat went dry. His heart raced, and he could feel the light touch of an iron hand on his throat again. “How could he be alive?” he croaked. “I saw him—you shot him! More than once!”

Ahsoka gave him an almost pitying look. “It takes more than that to take down a Sith,” she said, with a hard edge to her voice.

“But why didn’t you finish the job?” Kanan asked, equally as harsh.

“Because that wasn’t my call,” the commander snapped, in a way that made Ezra think she desperately wished it had been. “Command thinks Vader is a valuable prisoner—valuable enough to be worth the risk. You’re here now because Senator Organa put me—“ Ahsoka paused, releasing a sharp breath through her nose.

“Senator Organa revealed that he is in contact with a Jedi—the only Jedi who actually knows anything about Vader—and defeated him once,” she said, her voice grating with agitation. Ezra sensed that agitation wasn’t aimed at this time, though. “Your account may prove important in getting anything of use out of our prisoner.”

Perhaps it was childish, but Ezra felt some of his fear dissipate. A Jedi of the Old Republic—one who had won against Vader! The phantom grip on his throat retreated.

“A Jedi in hiding, and we’re just…comming him?” Kanan asked, skeptical. “Imperial slicers—“

“I know,” she said, suddenly looking very tired. “We’ve spent the past fifteen hours trying to build the uncrackable encryption we’ve needed for the past fifteen years. But we can’t go to him, and he can’t come to us, so—“ she held out her hands to the holopad.

As if on cue, the last tech stood, theatrically dusting off his hands. “OK, its ready to go—“ he frowned, “and you’ve already got an incoming transmission.”

“Put it through, and you’re dismissed,” Ahsoka ordered. She paused, rubbing her temple. “Thank you,” she added, in a much softer tone. The tech saluted, and was gone in a flash.

The three of them waited, the tension in the small room escalating. On the holopad, a blue figure fuzzed in and out, flickering before becoming clear. Ezra watched in surprised as Ahsoka’s demeanor totally changed. She placed her hands against her thighs and bowed low, causing her lekku spill forward, swaying freely.

“Master Kenobi,” she said, in a deeply respectful voice. The man on the holopad smiled, but somehow it was the saddest expression Ezra had ever seen.

“Ahsoka,” he said, gently. “It’s been such a long time.” He returned her bow.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Kanan exclaimed, in a kind of half-strangled shout. Something clicked in Ezra’s mind. “The Jedi Master from the holocron!”

“Oh?” Kenobi asked, with that sad smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “You’re familiar with that old thing?”

“Yes! I—“ Kanan hesitated, almost shyly. “My name’s Kanan Jarrus. I was—I met you once. I was Master Billaba’s padawan,” his hands were shaking slightly. “You knew me as Caleb.”

“I remember,” Kenobi said, gently. He offered Kanan the same bow he’d given Ahsoka. Kanan reciprocated, with tense, jerking movements. Kanan rose, hesitating again, then put a hand against Ezra’s back.

“This is my padawan,” he said, trying to smother the excitement and pride in his voice. “Ezra Bridger.”

“Your padawan?” Obi-Wan asked, something unreadable in his voice. “Padawan Bridger, it truly is my pleasure.”

Ezra felt a little giddy. Obi-Wan was _exactly_ the way Jedi were supposed to be—or at least, just the way he’d imagined. “I stole your holocron and that’s how I got started!” he blurted out, then immediately regretted doing so. But Obi-Wan just chuckled, a sound like dry rustling leaves.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka cut in. “I am still willing to send an armored convoy to your location. Your skills are desperately needed here.” The Jedi Master shook his head, regretfully.

“I _am_ sorry, but I am needed here more,” he replied. “For fifteen years I’ve had the same mission. If I abandon it now, there is a good chance that all you have worked for would be lost.”

“But _what_ —“

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Not even on your most secure channel. It’s a secret I’ll take to my grave if I have to.”

A brief pause, and then:

“I thought you were dead.” There was something vulnerable in Ahsoka’s face. Ezra averted his gaze.

“And I, you,” Obi-Wan answered. The lines on his face were much deeper than they’d been in his holocron, Ezra thought, and his hair and beard were fully white. He looked like he’d spent a lifetime being worn down by evil winds.

“But we are both alive,” Kenobi went on, “and thus, we must live in the present. Bail contacted me, but would only say there has been an upset in the order of things.”

“Vader has been captured.”

The words caused an enormous change in the venerable Master’s demeanor. He inhaled sharply, his eyes widened, and a flurry of emotions passed over his face—too many, too fast for Ezra to recognize.

“Tell me everything,” he said, with urgency—or maybe distress-- lacing his voice.

 Kanan looked uneasy, but with a nod from Ahsoka he straightened and began to tell his story. “We received information that Vader was alone and exhibiting erratic behavior in a waystation Temple located on the planet of Lothal,” he began. “My team and I decided to investigate.

“You are the only Jedi on your team, I take it?” Obi-Wan asked. “A foolish decision.”

“Yes, Master,” Kanan replied automatically, bowing his head quickly. “We entered the Temple and found that it contained a cave strong with the Force—a site of trials. We discovered Vader had been compromised, unable to complete the trial.”

“And what trial was this?”

“It concerned….attachment,” Kanan started, hesitantly. Obi-Wan nodded, and he continued. “The Force revealed a vision of one’s…deepest held desire, and—if one couldn’t master oneself, they would be unable to leave that vision.” Kanan stumbled over his explanation, still deeply ashamed by his own near-failure in the mirror. But Obi-Wan didn’t seem to notice—his face looked pinched, desperate.

“Vader was trapped in the nexus of the Force,”

“Yes. He’d been there for five days.”

Ezra was concerned for the old Jedi master. Kenobi was clearly beyond being troubled by their account. He looked faint, or like he might be sick.

“You found him…in his own vision,” Kenobi’s voice wavered. Kanan was overwhelmed.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

Ezra decided to step in. “It was a planet we didn’t recognize,” he said. “There was a lake with a waterfall in the middle of a big grassy plain.” Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed, but Ezra wasn’t doing anything wrong, so he kept going. “Vader was there, but he wasn’t wearing his armor. There were two other humans with him, a man and a woman, but they weren’t… _doing_ anything. They all just sat there. Two kids brought him flowers—“

“Two? There were two?”

“Yeah,” Ezra confirmed, feeling decidedly uncertain himself. “A boy and a girl.” Now he was really concerned that Obi-Wan might be sick. His jaw was clamped shut, and Ezra could see the muscles in his neck moving.

“What happened,” Kenobi asked, hoarsely, “when you removed him?”

Ezra looked at Kanan, who offered him an unintelligible gesture. “Vader…tried to get back in. He--”

 The padawan stopped. Obi-Wan’s face was etched with grief. The deep lines around his eyes seemed carved from stone.

The old Jedi put his face in is hands.

“Master Kenobi?” Ahsoka asked, alarmed. “Master?!” Obi-Wan didn’t look up. His shoulders heaved as he wheezed, his breath rattling in his throat. Ezra didn’t know how long the silence went on, exactly, but it felt like he spent hours watching Obi-Wan desperately keep from sobbing.

“You should…have left him there,” Obi-Wan rasped. His hands fell away from his face. “You should have—“ he shook his head, his eyes shut tight.

“Master, what is going _on_?” Ahsoka demanded, her voice sharp. “What does Vader’s vision mean?”

“You must,” Obi-Wan’s voice was thick with grief, with a kind of naked vulnerability that made Ezra feel ashamed to have witnessed it. “You must do what I could not.”

“Master?”

“You have to kill him. Let him die.”

“Obi-Wan! What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer. “What does Vader’s vision mean?” Ahsoka was half-shouting now. “What aren’t you telling us? _What does it mean_?”

“You know what it means. You know what it means that he dreams about a woman on Naboo.”

Ahsoka gasped, sharp and short. Her eyes flew open. She buckled forward, like she’d been punched in the gut.

“That’s not possible! Why would you _say_ that?!”

“Because it’s true, Ahsoka. I am so, so sorry—“

“You’re sorry? You’re _sorry_?!” Ahsoka was on the verge of screaming now. “You—you’re hiding—from him—it was him all along! And you—how could this happen!” She _was_ screaming now. “ _How could you let this happen_?!”

Obi-Wan bowed his head in shame. Ezra was paralyzed. He wanted to be anywhere, _anywhere_ but here, watching this play out.

“Please, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan tried again. “Just let him out. Don’t make him live that way anymore.”

If Ezra had thought Ahsoka was angry before, he was sadly mistaken. She was furious now—her eyes blazing, her hands shaking, her lekku trembling with rage.

“You’re a coward! You’re hiding from him—from me—“ she seethed, jabbing and accusing finger at Obi-Wan’s flickering blue figure. “All this time!”

Obi-Wan bowed his head. He took her abuse as though he thought he deserved every second of it. “Give him one last kindness,” he begged, his gaze lowered, “put him down.” Obi-Wan looked back up, pleading.

“Anakin would have thanked you for it—“

It was too much for Ahsoka. She slammed her hand against the comm, ending the transmission. She glared at the comm unit, like she wanted to smash it to pieces. Her restraint held, though, and instead she turned and slammed her fist into the wall—again, again, and again. Finally, she stopped, resting her forehead against the durasteel.

“That was rash,” she said aloud, her voice eerily flat. “Who knows if Obi-Wan will contact us again.” She stayed there for a long moment, desperately trying to center herself. She turned back to Kanan and Ezra, looking exhausted.

“The information I am about to tell you can’t go beyond your team,” she said, wearily. “You’re the only ones with firsthand experience with Vader—“ the Sith Lord’s name seemed to stick in her throat, and she grimaced.

“Commander Tano?” Kanan ventured. “Are you…?”

Ahsoka held up her hand, cutting off any line of questioning. “You have blundered into something more dangerous than you know,” she told them. “Darth Vader…” she started, but couldn’t finish. She steeled herself.

“Darth Vader was once Anakin Skywalker.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was absolutely not supposed to be a Chapter 2. For everyone who left such sweet reviews, this one's for you.

Ezra didn’t know the name Anakin Skywalker any more than he would have recognized the name Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Kanan sure did. He would never forget the way his master had looked at Ahsoka’s revelation—like she’d _betrayed_ him. His shock and horror had resounded in the Force but Kanan himself just stood there, lips parted, eyes wide. Ahsoka drew in close and clapped a hand to his shoulder, bowing her head in respect to his grief, before gathering herself.

“I’m taking time to investigate this matter further before reporting to Rebel Command,” she said. “Remember—tell no one.” Kanan nodded, dumbly. Commander Tano drew herself up, as if nothing had happened, and marched out the door.

Ezra took Kanan back to their quarters, sometimes tugging on his tunic when Kanan looked really out of it. Neither of them spoke the entire way. Zeb must have seen something on their faces when they got to the room, because for once he acted like a team player and excused himself, awkwardly, so Master and padawan could be alone.

Kanan crawled into his bunk and lay there, curled on his side. Ezra hesitated, but sat on the edge of the bed, near his master’s shoulders—they weren’t touching, but they were close.

“Kanan?” he ventured, after a few moments of silence. The Jedi turned, meeting Ezra’s worried gaze. That seemed to wake him up and he turned, flipping onto his back.

“You have no idea what just happened, do you?” He sighed.

“Not a clue,” Ezra confirmed.

Kanan tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. He adjusted position so he could look Ezra in the face, propping his hands beneath his head.

“Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi were the greatest master-padawan team of the Clone Wars,” He started, and his mouth curled up in a bitter smile.

“You mean Vader was a _Jedi_?”

“Yeah. Now you know how _we_ feel,” Kanan shot back, trying to be glib, but his joke fell flat. “Kenobi and Skywalker weren’t like anything the Galaxy had seen before. They liberated more planets, destroyed more Separatist cruisers, and vanquished more _Sith_ —“ Kanan spat out the last word, “--than any other Jedi in recent history. They were like legends, walking among us. Then the Order came down—“ Kanan never talked about that—“and Kenobi and Skywalker were gone. Just _vanished_. The Empire had a huge bounty on Obi-Wan for a while, I remember seeing the wanted posters, but Skywalker was assumed dead.” Kanan grimaced. “I guess now we know why they weren’t looking for him.”

“I don’t understand.” Ezra ran his hands through his hair. “Vader—Anakin— _whoever_ —he just…decided not to be a Jedi anymore?”

“He fell, Ezra,” Kanan said. “The Dark Side is a real danger to anyone who can touch the Force.”

Ezra thought about the suffocating darkness that rolled off Vader, the crushing pressure that paralyzed him, leaving him at the Sith’s mercy.

“Like me on Ananxes?” Ezra asked, quietly.

“No, Ezra,” Kanan said, sitting up. “Not like you at all. You _stopped_. Vader didn’t.” He reached over and ruffled Ezra’s hair, dodging his padawan’s protests. He scooted down the bed, so he and Ezra could sit side-by-side.

“So Vader fell to the Dark Side, which made him a Sith, which made him join the Empire…and that made him change his name?” Ezra ventured. Kanan sighed heavily.

“That’s what happened, but it wasn’t… _like_ that.” He tried to explain.

“Then _why_?”

“That’s the question, isn’t?” Kanan asked, staring at the door. “ _Why_?” He pressed his knuckles against his forehead, eyes closed, deep in thought. “I have no idea. I don’t even think _Ahsoka_ knows.”

“Why would she?”

“Because she was Vader’s padawan.”

“ _What_!” Ezra yelped. “Are you _kidding_? How can she not _know_?”

“Ahsoka left the Order,” Kanan explained. “A couple months before the Republic fell—which I guess is when Vader fell, too.”

“So you can stop being a Jedi and not be a Sith?”

“I don’t think any of us can _stop_ being Jedi,” Kanan said. He gave Ezra a thoughtful look. “I know I couldn’t.”

Ezra bit his lip. He knew about being alone. He just hadn’t realized his master did, too. He thought about Kanan and Ahsoka, running across the Galaxy, with their whole extended family dead and Vader’s mechanical breath against the back of their necks. He thought about the Temple from Kanan’s vision, as quiet and dusty and empty as his old house.

_You’re not ready to leave yet, Caleb. There’s still so much you don’t know._

He leaned in and wrapped his arms around Kanan’s torso, giving him a long squeeze. Kanan huffed—Ezra thought he might has accidentally included some of Kanan’s bruising in his grip—but didn’t push him off.

“Alright, padawan,” he said, his voice light. “That’s enough for today.”

“Nope. Give it a second…,” Ezra conceded, releasing him. “Alright, _that_ was enough.” He sat back, satisfied with his work.

Kanan half-chuckled.

“You’re a strange one,” he said, ruffling Ezra’s hair again. “But I think if I had a choice, I’d pick you again.”

“You _think_?!”

Kanan laughed at that—for real this time, hard enough that he had to grab his sore ribs. His laughter slowed, and his looked at Ezra with a kind of solemnness.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, softly. “What happens next won’t be easy.”

Ezra shrugged. “I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Kanan replied. He looked back at the door. “First up, we’re going to have to tell Hera about Vader… and if you think _I_ took it bad…”

* * *

 

Ahsoka walked through the ruins of what had once been heavy blast doors, now a ragged hole failing to cut off the detention unit from the rest of the base. They’d been torn from their bearings by some great and unstoppable force, leaving rent durasteel and snapped cables in their wake. She didn’t pause to survey the damage—couldn’t stop at all. If she didn’t purposefully put one foot in front of the other she’d turn around and run, give the order to evacuate the base and blow it from orbit with their prisoner still inside.

She didn’t run. She walked forward.

“Do you have a status update?” she asked, curtly.

The medic, a harried looking Mirulan, held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “I think this guy needs a mechanic more than a physician.”

She glared. The medic sighed.

“His vitals are holding…for now. I wasn’t actually joking about the mechanic, by the way. I’m familiar with cybernetic prosthetics, but I’ve _never_ seen an organic being with this much hardware in him. Four limbs, synthetic organs, a respirator…and I don’t know when the damage he took from all those blaster bolts is going to catch back up with him. If it does, I may not be able to keep him together.”

“But right now he’s stable?”

The medic looked shifty. “Can I…be honest, for a second?”

“Permission granted.”

He rocked back on his heels. “As a citizen of the Republic I want to see Vader tried for war crimes and punished accordingly,” he said. “As a doctor…” he hesitated. “Look, I took an oath.”

Ahsoka had had about enough of this. “Spit it out.”

“I don’t know if I can, in good conscious, keep this man alive anymore,” he said. “This is—I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. On _him_ , I guess. My advice?” he looked up at Ahsoka, with the vibrant cobalt eyes typical of his species. “Pull the plug. Anything else is just cruel. Maybe that’s good alright for the Emperor, but I joined this fight because I believe we serve a higher cause. Because we’re _better_ than them, even to our prisoners.”

_Let him die. Don’t make him live that way anymore. Anakin would have thanked you…_

Ahsoka clenched her jaw, and a vein stood out in her neck. “Our prisoner stays alive,” she said, through gritted teeth. “If you think for one _second_ you aren’t qualified to keep him that way, then you need to recuse yourself and get another medic down here who _is_. Am I understood?” 

The medic held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Loud and clear, Commander. I’ll look into our resources and see if I can’t shake something loose in the way of a biomechanical engineer.”

“Good. If I find out you jeopardized the Alliance by sabotaging our prisoner—“

“You won’t,” the Mirulan informed her, firmly. “Though, if I can still give my opinion, it’s a waste of resources—and it’s going to take _a lot_ of resources-- to keep Vader alive when he’s just going to go to the firing squad when this is all over.”

“Your opinion is noted, doctor,” Ahsoka answered him, coolly. He sighed.

“You should see him,” the medic said, finally. “You should know what you’re dealing with before you start interrogating, or whatever you plan to do.”

Ahsoka cursed inwardly. Now she had no way out. She was going to have to face Anakin—

No. That wasn’t Anakin in there. She straightened.

“I don’t need an escort,” she said, “you may stay here.” The medic nodded. Ahsoka picked her way across the floor. Before they’d been able to neutralize Vader he’d made what she would have described as a _heroic_ escape effort, had it been carried out by anyone else. He’s somehow managed to tear huge gashes in the floor, as well as destroy a number of holding cells in addition to the blast doors. He’d injured eleven soldiers and put five more in critical condition before going down.

Vader’s cell was covered by a ray shield. Inside he was strapped to a table, despite the fact that he was also unconscious-- but they couldn’t be careful enough. Her hand hovered over the deactivation switch. She could invent some kind of comm call, do this later—

_And hide from what happened, like Obi-Wan?_ She slammed her palm against controls.

Vader was unrecognizable—both from the armored specter she’d glimpsed in holos and the kind Jedi knight she’d known so many years ago. His skin was chalk white where it wasn’t covered in pale scars or circuitry—and he had _plenty_ of both. Aside from his skeletal prosthetics, there were monitors and devices meant for who-knows-what sunk into his flesh, including the control box set in his ribcage. There was ragged, mottled scarring (and the occasional open sore) where metal met skin. She shut her eyes, but couldn’t escape the image of the mangled Sith before her—even then she could hear his thin, ragged wheezing, somehow unmuffled by the oxygen mask on his face.

Obi-Wan was right. Her former master looked… pathetic, lying there on the table. Anakin would never have wanted to live this way—no matter how deeply Vader had taken root, Ahsoka knew he would never have done this to himself. Just what had _happened_ to the man who’d been her teacher and brother?

She drew closer, one step—then another. She now she could look down on his face, partially obscured by the fog on his clear mask. His face was heavily lined, and not in a way that suggested laughter or smiling. There where dark shadows beneath his eyes. Without thinking, she laid her hand against his head.

“You look old, Master,” she said aloud. She’d thought the same thing when she saw Obi-Wan. Hell, _she_ was old now, too—or at least, she _felt_ old. She was tired, tired in a way that dragged at her bones and weighed down on her heart. What had happened to them?

_What am I doing_? She thought to herself, angrily, snatching her hand away. This wasn’t her master—she’d moved on from Anakin a long time ago, and now he was gone. She may have left the Jedi, but they were still her first family—and this man had _murdered_ them. She _should_ kill him. Obi-Wan had failed in the worst way, but letting this monster live to terrorize the Galaxy.  Now, before he could pull another crazy stunt and wake up—all she had to do was cut his oxygen, maybe shove his own gloves down his throat to hurry the process—

_Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony_ , she chided herself. She ran her mantra through her head over and over, like a set of worn prayer beads. The room was full of crushing darkness, her own hatred fueling the dark energy latent in Vader’s comatose mind. She breathed in, slowly, deliberately, drawing herself back to center.

Vader wouldn’t win. Not against her. Ahsoka gave the Sith on the table one last look before she turned, re-powering the ray shields before sweeping out of the medbay.

Tomorrow. If Vader managed to last the night, they’d wake him up and begin the interrogation. They’d need a sure plan of attack to be certain they got every last piece of information the Rebellion needed.

And if they had to _break_ him in order to get those answers she’d needed for the past fifteen years?

_Well, that would be just fine_ , she thought, grimly.

* * *

 

Kanan was right—and really, he was right pretty often, now that Ezra thought about it-- Hera _did_ take the news of Vader’s true identity hard. He could tell Kanan had been hesitant to break it to her, especially after he’d let it slip that Obi-Wan was still alive.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi?” she’d asked, eyes gleaming. “Is he coming here?”

“Is he going to teach you two advanced Jedi whatever?” Sabine asked, less impressed. 

The other three members of the Ghost crew were crammed into the small cabin, the two Jedi on one bed opposite Sabine and Hera on the other. Zeb lounged on the top bunk. 

Kanan shook his head. “No- he’s apparently on some kind of mission—I think he might be working really deep undercover? Whatever it is, he made it sound like it’s been his whole life for the past fifteen years.”

 “What—did you _talk_ to him?!”

“Yes—“ her face let up, and Kanan’s heart sank. “--no, Hera, just _listen_ for a second,” Kanan pleaded. She obliged, her brow creasing with worry.

“I know you’re not going to believe this,” he started, and Hera drew back, uncertain. “But Darth Vader… he was a Jedi.”

“A Jedi?!”  Sabine and Zeb looked alarmed. Hera opened her mouth slightly, but said nothing.

“Did you…know him?” she finally asked, gently. Kanan sighed. He reached out, taking one of her hands.

“Hera, he was _Anakin Skywalker_.”

Hera snatched her hand out of Kanan’s grasp, shaking her head. It made her lekku flop back and forth. “No. I— _no_! There’s no _way_ ,” she said, with muted revulsion in her voice.

“I know,” Kanan replied, wearily.

“How? _Why_? How could he--”

“We don’t know. _Nobody_ knows—not even Ahsoka.”

“Ahsoka—I wasn’t even thinking…” Ezra realized, to his horror, that Hera’s eyes were bright with tears. She bit her lip and covered her face with her hand. For a tense moment, the room was totally silent.

Then she came back. Her hands slid down, resting on her chest as she released her held breath. “Are _you_ OK?” she asked Kanan, looking into his eyes with that pointed stare of hers. Kanan shot her that half-grin of his, but it was fragile.

“We beat him. That’s what matters.”

Hera leaned back, arms folded across her chest. Her face was stern.

“Kenobi and Skywalker were my heroes,” she said, matter-of-factly. “They were _everyone’s_ heroes.”

Kanan made a non-committal noise.

“You’re saying he _betrayed_ us—you more than any of us. You’re saying that Anakin Skywalker is the traitor Trayvis could only dream of being.”

Kanan looked stormy. “What’s your point?”

“And I’m saying it’s a little strange that you’re so—“ Hera spread her hands, frustrated, “ _calm_ about all of this! This is Skywalker—our hope for three years! The Hero with No Fear! How could— _how can you just sit there_?!” She was shouting now.

Kanan sat unnaturally still, hands flat against his thighs. “If I gave in to what I’m feeling right now,” he forced out, through gritted teeth, “then I would be _just like him_.”

She paused, frowning. “You aren’t. You would never—“

“Didn’t we think the same thing about Skywalker?”

Hera was clearly unhappy, but she dropped it. She glanced at Kanan sideways, in a way that clearly said _we will talk about this later_.

“It hurt less when we thought he was dead,” she said aloud, her voice thick with bitterness. Kanan only nodded. Hera relaxed slightly, moving to rub her temples.

“What will we do now?”

Kanan shrugged. “Ahsoka thought it would be possible to interrogate Vader get some information out of him. Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t even think I _want_ to know what he knows.”

“We have to try,” Hera admonished. “There are bigger things at work than us.”

Privately, Ezra thought he was tired of the “bigger things” in the Galaxy trampling him and the people he cared about. Kanan snorted.

“Vader’s dangerous—and he’s unpredictable. Either he kills every single one of us, or the Empire learns where he is and _they_ kill every single one of us and set him free, it doesn’t matter. The one thing we do know is that he won’t talk.”

“The one thing _you believe_.”

“Vader is the Emperor’s fanatic!” Kanan exclaimed in disgust. “He doesn’t rest or sleep-- he doesn’t even have a _life_ outside of his missions. He just _kills_. He only lives to serve the Empire. Like a _dog_.”

“If Vader only lives for the Empire,” Hera said, her voice sharp, “then how did he get trapped by a vision of a wish?”

Ezra and Kanan exchanged a quick glance. They hadn’t considered that.

“You’re saying…we should give Vader what he wants?”

“No. I’m saying you have _leverage_.” Hera held up her hands, exasperated. “Weren’t you just inside his head?”

Kanan had the good sense to look chagrinned.

“What did you see there?” Hera pressed.

Ezra was getting tired of retelling this story. “Nothing much,” he said, irritated.

“Tell us anyway. If we’re involved with this now, we should have a plan of attack.” Hera replied, settling in.

“But there really wasn’t anything there! It was just Vader, dressed like a Jedi in a big green field—“

“--I think it was more of a meadow, really—“ Kanan cut in.

“— _fine_ , in a big green _meadow_ , not doing _anything_ —“

“With a woman and two kids,” Kanan finished.

“And that guy,” Ezra added.

“What guy?”

Hera looked like she wanted to bang her head against the wall. “Don’t you remember?” Ezra asked, concerned. “He was dressed like a Jedi too—“ Kanan paled.

“I—I forgot,” Kanan said, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples. “How could I _forget_?  I—I am _so_ stupid. I made a huge mistake.”

“What?” Hera asked, alarmed.

“Kenobi was _there_ —there in the vision. How could I forget? I thought he looked familiar, but he was young- I just didn’t make the connection. How? I idolized him. I have his _holocron_!”

“Obi-Wan?” Ezra asked, “but why--?”

“Focus,” Hera said, leaning forward to lay a hand on Kanan’s thigh. “Kenobi was there. What happened?”

“Nothing. They were just—sitting there, while some kids ran around.”

“You think Vader wants kids?” Hera asked in clear disbelief. Sabine made a noise that might have been _yeuch_.

“That’s just what we saw, OK? I don’t really understand it either.”

“Are you sure it’s not a metaphor?” Zeb asked, from the top bunk. “It’s not like green fields are hard to locate. Vader could go lie in one any time he wants.”

Sabine rolled her eyes at him. “ _Metaphor_. You read too many novels” she muttered.

“Obi-Wan seemed to know where it was—he said it was on Naboo.”

“You think Vader will talk if we gave him a field trip to Naboo with Kenobi?”

“We’re not giving Vader _anything_.”

Hera pressed her hands against her eyes. “We’re not getting anywhere. What did Obi-Wan and Ahsoka say when you told them this?”

Kanan hesitated. “They fought,” he said, quietly. “Obi-Wan knew about Vader—who he was. Ahsoka didn’t. He said we should kill Vader, to ‘do what he couldn’t’— but not…” He shrugged. “Not because it would be just. Because he thought it would be _merciful_.”

“His own master,” Hera said, shaking her head, lekku swinging. Ezra’s stomach sank at those words. It hadn’t occurred to him that Obi-Wan was Anakin’s master, in addition to Ahsoka being his padawn. No wonder she’d screamed at him. Ezra looked sideways at Kanan. He thought about his master, begging someone else to kill him because he couldn’t stand to see his padawan fallen so far.

He felt sick.

”Vader’s the last person who needs mercy,” Hera said. “Is Obi-Wan too close to this?”

“Ahsoka might be, too,” Kanan replied, brow furrowed in thought. “She said she won’t tell rebel command about Vader until she does her own digging.”

“So right now only Kenobi, Ahsoka, and all of us here know the truth?” Hera paused, thinking. “It needs to stay that way. Ahsoka may be right to keep this under wraps.”

“You think lying to command is a good idea?”

“No. But I think people still need to believe in Skywalker—in the Jedi—if we’re going to have the strength to keep at this thing until we win.”

“Just like we believed in Trayvis?” Kanan shot back, icy.

“No. Trayvis was misleading people. Skywalker is a _symbol_ ,” Hera said. “The man behind it doesn’t matter so much. Besides, people are already trying to unlearn Imperial propaganda about the Jedi. We don’t need them questioning you over something Vader did.”

Kanan sat back. “I don’t like it.”

Hera held out her hands. “Neither do I. But we do what we have to in order to win.”

* * *

 

Some hours later, Ahsoka was sprinting through the ruined prison wing. She slid to a halt in front of Vader’s cell, where her Mirulan medic was working frantically with a team consisting of a Rodian and a human on Vader’s open chest. The Mirulan was hands deep inside Vader’s ribs, his gloves slick with blood, and the rodian had a _saw_. A number of alarms were ringing, shrill klaxons mixing with frantically blaring monitors.

“You were supposed to keep him stable!” She shouted. She’s received their frantic call and assumed the worst, but somehow the worst hadn’t included Vader dying right there on the table.

_Not yet. Not until I have my answers._

“We were--!”

“You’re _operating_ on him!”

“We had to get inside—“ Ahsoka would admit later that the way the Mirulan could shout at her without losing his place in Vader’s innards was fairly impressive. “You fried some _really_ important pieces of his neural interface when you _shot him_ and now they’ve got to come out!”

“Take them out, then!”

“I can’t!” He screamed. “ _He’s waking up!_ ”

Ahsoka froze. Sure enough, Vader’s eyes were moving rapidly beneath his eyelids, and his arm was twitching.

“Put him back under!”

“I can’t do that!” The medic sounded desperate. “I don’t care how superhuman his metabolism is, if I dose him anymore he’ll _die_!”

Vader groaned and the rodian swore. The human mechanic’s evil-looking instrument fell from his nerveless fingers. Ahsoka muscled her way to Vader’s side, hovering over his face.

His eyelids fluttered opened—his eyes were the _same_. The same eyes she remembered from another life. She inhaled sharply, fighting for control.

_I know you_. Everything else seemed so far away, the noise and the chaos of the makeshift operating theatre dissolving and fading out, leaving only those words. The voice at the edges of her mind was ragged, breathless. It was the voice of a ghost. _I kn…ow…y…ou…_

“Ah…s..ssoka,” he slurred. His brow furrowed. “Dead?”

 She didn’t answer. She _couldn’t_. Vader reached his skeletal prosthetic out to her, but it jerked and twitched like he wasn’t fully in control.

“A…live…?” he asked.

“I am,” she snapped. “Despite your best efforts, _Vader_.”

Vader’s head swung around. He made an effort to sit up, but he was still restrained. He strained furiously against the thick synthleather straps holding him down, but to no avail. He looked up, and saw something in the bright light of the makeshift operating theatre. His pupils shrank. Time seemed to slow as Vader raised his head so he could look down at his own chest, laid bare and bloody.

A wave of terror struck Ahsoka like a blow to the gut. Vader’s fear was raw, and she imagined that she could _smell_ it—like every lungful of air made her throat dry and her heart race. Vader twisted and fought against the straps, but they didn’t give. The medic was screaming, his assistants were desperately fighting the struggling dark lord, trying to keep him from undoing their delicate work while also trying not to get killed. Vader screamed, a ragged sound that Ahsoka didn’t even have time to be moved by before the four of them were thrown against the walls, hard. Her ears rang from the force of the blow. Vader held them there for almost a full minute, each of them struggling for air against the crushing weight of some giant invisible hand.

He must have lost concentration, because as suddenly as they’d been trapped they were freed, sliding to the ground and taking in deep gulps of air in relief. Ahsoka and the Mirulan made it back on their feet, but the medic was hesitant to draw close to his patient; Vader had control of a number of pieces of smashed equipment, the shrapnel of which whirled through the air dangerously. There was no way he could keep this up for long, though: blood was oozing up out of the incision in his chest, and the monitors still connected to him shrieked in warning. Ahsoka fought her way forward, forearm in front of her face.

_I need you alive_.

A scalpel sliced across her skin, but she didn’t flinch. She stood behind Vader, looking upside down into his eyes. She only hesitated a micro-fraction of a second before grabbing his face in her hands.

_Sleep_ , she commanded, with every ounce of strength in the Force she possessed. Vader slowed—he stopped struggling against her grasp, and the broken remains of medical instruments slowed to a halt, hanging suspended in the air. Vader’s now-yellow stare bored directly into her.

A series of images rose to her mind. _Green fields. A blue sky. A flash of dark hair_. She impressed the pictures on his mind, trying not to think about how it gave way easily beneath her mental touch.

_Safe_.

Something brushed against her mind—something so faint, so imperceptibly soft, that she might have just imagined it. As quickly as she felt it, the touch was gone. Vader’s body went slack, his eyes closed, and she barely noticed in the tinkle of falling metal all around her. She stood there, transfixed, her hands still cradling the Sith’s face.

“How are you _doing_ that?” the rodian asked, awed—and more than a little afraid. Ahsoka didn’t respond. Vader’s skin was cold beneath her hands. Only the mirulan’s violent swearing broke the spell.

“—he tore it open! This is—?” He fumbled for a new pair of gloves, pulling them on and then blindly groping through the wreckage. He emerged with a cautery pen and frantically went to work. The smell and sound of sizzling flesh made Ahsoka’s stomach turn, and she released Vader’s face to cover her mouth, backing away.

“NO!” The medic shouted at her. He motioned to a box of flimsi masks. “You stay! He wakes up again and I can’t—“ Ahsoka hesitated, extremely reluctant.

_You let him die here and there will never be_ real _justice for the Order_ , said a nasty voice in the back of her head. _And you’ll never know why_ …

She pulled the mask across her face and steeled herself, laying her hands against Vader’s face once again, so her thumbs rested on the arc of his cheekbone.

“How long?” she asked.

“Settle in,” was the medic’s grim reply. Ahsoka wanted to curse, but instead inhaled slowly and began a light meditative exercise.

* * *

 

Kanan’s comm chimed, cutting into the fierce argument he was having with Hera. They’d relocated to the deserted mess hall, but the debate over what to do about Vader raged on.

“Ahsoka?” Kanan asked, as the holo flickered to life. She looked awful. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she was covered in a number of small cuts. There was a smear of blood across her tunic. “What--?”

“We’re being hailed,” she said, curtly. “You know who it is. Bring your padawan and meet me in secure comms.”

 The message ended as abruptly as it had begun. Kanan looked at Hera, shrugging.

“Are you three going to try and do this by yourselves?” she asked. She wasn’t angry, but Kanan felt the weight of her gaze.

“We’re the only Jedi available,” he answered, wearily. “If I could opt out of this, trust me—I would.” He pushed his tray away, already punching in Ezra’s frequency.

Ahsoka looked somehow worse in person than she did in the holo. She’d swapped her tunic for a fresh one, and some of her more serious wounds had bacta patches, but there were fine lines marring the white markings on her face that didn’t come from physical injury. She was wolfing down a ration bar greedily.

“Good. You’re here.” She drew a hand across the back of her mouth, catching any crumbs. “Kenobi started hailing us five minutes ago. I got here as soon as I could.”

“Are you…OK?” Ezra asked, with his characteristic lack of tact. Ahsoka fixed him with a burning glare.

“I’ve been better,” was all she said. “It’ll be a while before we can interrogate Vader. There were complications during his operation.”

“Complications?”

“He woke up. He didn’t care for what he saw.”

Kanan and Ezra shared a look of alarm.

“Look, Commander Tano,” Kanan started. “Do we have any plan on how to move forward?”

Ahsoka closed her eyes, like she was using every ounce of her Temple training not to scream. “The current plan has encountered a number of setbacks. If the Force is with us, then Kenobi will have another one.”

“Captain Syndulla thinks we could use Vader’s vision as leverage.”

Ahsoka barked with bitter laughter. “Not unless you can wake a dead woman,” she shot back, jabbing the comm signal. Kenobi’s image sprung back to life. Looking at him, Kanan could finally put a name to what was so unsettling about the Jedi Master’s prematurely aged face. He looked like only half of a person—and now Kanan knew what had become of that other half.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka’s greeting was markedly less respectful this time.

“Ahsoka,” he replied. His voice was gravelly, worn. “Has there been a change in the situation?” Everyone could hear the real question-- _how is he?_ \-- underlying those words.

“Vader’s physical condition has provided a number of unforeseen challenges,” she answered, coolly. “The damage his life-support sustained during capture complicated our efforts to interrogate him.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“I did that,” Obi-Wan finally admitted, not quite meeting any of their eyes. “I was the one who did that to him.” Ahsoka’s eyes widened.

“All of it?” She asked. Kenobi nodded. “It was richly deserved.”

Obi-Wan looked like those words physically pained him, but he held together. Kanan hadn’t seen what Ahsoka had, but if it was _that_ bad then he agreed with her wholeheartedly.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan began, “do you trust me?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Did _you_ ever trust _me_?” she shot back, indignantly.

Obi-Wan winced. “I deserved that,” he said, sadly. “Very well. Did you trust Anakin, at least?”

“That doesn’t matter now,” she said; she unfolded her arms, fists hanging loosely at her sides.

“It does. You heard as well as I did what the mirror showed him—how it overrode his reason.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! He’s not—“  

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said, “he wants to go _home_.”

Kanan was deeply unsettled by that turn of phrase. He looked over and knew Ezra was thinking the same thing— _home_ was what they had been tempted with, too.

_Vader is the reason we can’t go home_. The thought hardened his heart, gave him strength. 

“It’s too late for that,” Ahsoka shot back. “Padme is _dead_. I watched her state funeral,” Ahsoka paused, then tilted her head back. “Did you know?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer.

                “Did you know he was _slipping_?” she pressed. Her words were like barbs, but Kenobi shrugged them off.

                “We can’t go back and undo what happened,” Obi-Wan said, “but I am telling you now-- you can _reach him_.”

                “ _What_?!”

 Kanan and Ezra agreed wholeheartedly with Ahsoka’s assessment.

“We know there is a part of him that remembers his life before—“

                “You are _out of your mind_ ,” Ahsoka jabbed an accusing finger at Obi-Wan’s flickering figure. “Vader serves the Empire—“

                “Vader serves the _Emperor_ ,” Kenobi cut her off, gravely. A moment of realization, and then—

                “Palpatine isn’t a figurehead,” Ahsoka clenched her fists. “He’s the Sith Lord.” She looked at Obi-Wan, severely. “The whole time?” Kenobi nodded gravely. Ahsoka swore. Kanan went pale with fury.

                “You mean the war—all of it—was a sham?” Kanan interjected. He barely refrained from shouting. “The Chancellor was playing both sides?” He took a half step forward, as though he could physically confront Obi-Wan. “We lost _so many_ —“

                “And Anakin knew,” Ahsoka laid her hand against Kanan’s chest, pushing him back in a gentle rebuke. “He _knew_ and he threw everything away to join the man who murdered our friends.”

                “No,” Obi-Wan shook his head, emphatically. “Palpatine had been working against us for years—working on _Anakin_. He was _lured_ to the Dark Side.”  He looked at Ahsoka, meaningfully. Her mouth fell open in surprise.

                “And you think he’ll turn back!” Ahsoka was genuinely astonished. So was Kanan. “That goes against everything we know about the Sith! He’s been trying to have you killed for fifteen years and you think that- - what, that he’ll just change his mind? You’re delusional. You’ve been who-knows-where for years and you’ve _lost_ it, Obi-Wan! _You_ were the one who told us to kill him!”

                “I did.” There was something different about Obi-Wan. It was as though Ahsoka’s words had lit a fire in him. He stood straighter, and his words rang more clearly. “Anakin was _my_ reasonability. I should have helped him. I should have kept him from hurting other people when the time I could have helped him had passed. I failed—I failed him, and you, the Republic...” Obi-Wan raised his chin, meeting Ahsoka’s stare. “I won’t fail again. I am telling you right now—this is the best chance any of us have. You owe it to him—“

                “I don’t owe him anything,” Ahsoka hissed. “Not after what he did. I certainly don’t owe you anything, not when you were ready to throw me out for the sake of the Order’s _image_.” The last word fell like a slap. “I won’t help you get us all killed—the fate of the Galaxy doesn’t take second place to your regrets.”

                “Don’t do this for me, then. Do it for Anakin—“

                “You call him that like _he_ wasn’t he one who threw that name away—“

                “Anakin can be saved!” Obi-Wan shouted back, his voice cracking with emotion. “If you don’t believe that—or you don’t care—then you should at least consider what I’m saying before you turn away the greatest chance to turn the tide of the war against the Sith.”

                 Kanan didn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought he had known Obi-Wan Kenobi, the first Jedi to kill a Sith in centuries, the Order’s finest duelist, part of the Team—he’d _admired_ him. Now he here he was, taking the side of a Sith Lord, one who’d destroyed everything they once stood for…

_“You think Vader’s master could find him and drag him back out?”_

_“I know so. I could—and would-- do the same for you.”_

                “You think Vader would…join us?” Ahsoka asked, startled. Her anger had a softness around the edges—a deep, abiding sadness. “That’s just crazy, Obi-Wan. It won’t happen. Don’t do this to yourself—you need to wake up and live with what happened.”

                “Anakin broke every rule for you,” Obi-Wan said. “And me. _Try_. If you fail, at least you gave him a chance to die as himself, and not a pawn of the Emperor. ”

                “You act like Vader wouldn’t come and kill you once he was done disposing of us.” Ahsoka said, softly. “You haven’t seen him. He’s unrecognizable in every way.”

                “I know the depth of Vader’s hatred more keenly than you ever will,” Obi-Wan said, still defiant. “But there was a time I would have died for him. I will honor that pledge once more.”

                “You want us to put our lives on the line for a man who despises you and everything you stand for,” Ahsoka said. “It’s not—“

                “That’s not entirely right,” Ezra cut in. Kanan started—he’d forgotten his padawan was there. “I mean…” Ezra reached up and touched the fading ring of bruises around his neck, uncomfortably. “Master Kenobi, you’re definitely wrong and a little crazy—“

                “Ezra—!”

                “—but we messed up and you deserve to know,” he finished, firmly. That seemed to surprise Obi-Wan more than anything revealed over the past day and a half. He blinked, then looked at Kanan.

                “Forgive my padawan for _speaking out of turn_ ,” Kanan apologized, with a meaningful glare at Ezra— _you have a_ lot _of upside down meditation in your future_ —“but he’s absolutely right.” Kanan bowed, out of habit, and then reached over and placed a hand against Ezra’s back, pushing him gently into the same position.

                “Our mission briefing was incomplete. Vader’s attack and my own inability to master my feelings in the light of the past…revelations… clouded my perspective. I am deeply sorry.”

                “There is no need to apologize for that,” Obi-Wan said, encouragingly, “or your spirited padawan.” He sounded wistful.

                “What did you leave out of your report?” Ahsoka asked.

                “The identity of the second figure in Vader’s vision,” Kanan replied, carefully. “Along with the dark-haired woman.”

                “Padme Amidala,” Ahsoka supplied. “We should have another briefing—we need to be on the same page.” She rubbed her temple, looking exhausted. “Whichever way this goes forward, we absolutely cannot go in blind. Every scrap of detail you can remember—“

                “Right,” Kanan said, cutting her off. “It was my fault. I should have immediately recognized—“

                “It’s alright,” Kenobi said, with a sad smile. “Qui-Gon Jinn died well before your time.”

                Kanan and Ezra shared a confused look. “It wasn’t Master Jinn I saw in the vision,” Kanan replied, slowly.

                “Oh?” Obi-Wan looked puzzled by that. “Then…?”

                He hesitated. “It was you, Master.”

                Obi-Wan froze. His eyes went wide and round, and his lips parted in a small “oh”. Ahsoka’s head whipped around and she fixed them with a piercing look.

                “You’re sure?” she asked, intently. “And Master Kenobi was present under… _amicable_ circumstances?”

                Kanan nodded. “Yes. That’s why I didn’t believe it…and why it took me so long to remember.”

                Obi-Wan didn’t answer. He looked like he’d received a stunning blow. He looked like he wanted to speak, but didn’t have the words.

                “Master Kenobi?” Kanan ventured. Obi-Wan started, looking at the unorthodox Jedi and Padawan team before him. He seemed to weight something for a moment—carefully, deliberately—before opening his mouth to speak again.

                “I can give you something,” he said. “Something that will make your chances of succeeding with Anakin… _Vader_ … much more likely.”

                “What?” Ahsoka asked. Obi-Wan shook his head.

                “Information,” he said, brusquely. “I will contact you again in twelve hours. In the meantime, check the security of this link. Triple check it, and then check it once again. If you have even half a doubt, rebuild the entire network.”

                “But Master, what makes you so sure—?”

                “Do you sense it, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asked. She hesitated.

                “No, Master. What--?”

                “ _Hope_ ,” Obi-Wan said, almost at a whisper. “The Force is with us once again.” And with that, the Jedi Master’s hologram winked out. Ahsoka stared at the empty place it had once been.

                “I don’t share Master Kenobi’s enthusiastic assessment of our situation,” she said. “But it’s likely we’ll be able to talk to Vader after that same twelve hour timeframe. Call Captain Syndulla, we’ll meet for another briefing at the end of the night cycle.”

                “Yes, Commander,” Kanan and Ezra replied. Ezra looked entirely too smug.

_So much upside down meditation_ , Kanan promised himself.

* * *

 

                Twelve hours had _seemed_ like a long period of time, but they were scrambling to be ready for the interrogation. None of them got more than four hours of rest, and everyone was totally out of sync with the base’s sleep cycle. As the time for Vader’s interrogation grew closer and closer the tension between them ramped up to intolerable levels—with every passing minute their plan seemed more and more outrageous, a fools’ errand that would kill them all. They waited for Kenobi, the three Jedi and Hera crammed into secure comms, holding their breath with anticipation.

                With all the effort they’d spent making sure their channel was the most impenetrable comm lane every made, Kenobi’s final message seemed…underwhelming. He slid a holo disk into his own comm, and the four of them waited with baited breath as the information began to download on their end.

                “If, for whatever reason you don’t need to play this, then destroy it,” Obi-Wan warned. “Show it to no one but Vader and yourselves. If you’re captured after learning what’s on here, then you need to be prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to keep this secret.”

                “And what if Vader is unswayed?” Hera asked. Ezra couldn’t help but admire how collected she was in front of her hero.

                “Then Anakin is truly lost,” Obi-Wan said, “and must be destroyed.” He said those words with a bone-deep confidence— _that will not happen_. “The Force will guide you, and you will know what to do.”

                The download finished with a soft _bleep_ , breaking the contemplative silence of the room. Obi-Wan nodded.

                “I can’t do anything more than this,” he said, “I wish…” he broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t think it would be wise for us to make contact again.”

                Ahsoka tilted her head back. “Is your mission that important?”

                “It is more important than my life,” Obi-Wan answered, softly. “If you fail, then its success will be the only hope we have left.” Ahsoka turned that information over for a moment, expression unreadable. Then she inclined her head.

                “Very well. It is unlikely we will meet again. May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan,” she said. Her voice betrayed no emotion, but her words were soft.

                “And with you, Ahsoka,” he said, looking around. “With _all_ of you.” His image winked out, and he was gone. For a moment, the four of them shared the gravity of his words, and the task ahead of them. Ahsoka leaned forward and retrieved the data disk. It was so strange that Obi-Wan’s secret fears and deepest hopes could fit here, in the palm of her hand. She closed her fingers around the disk, letting the object anchor her to the present.

                “Obi-Wan trusted us to take this information to our graves, should the time arise,” she said, looking up. “Are you all ready to give your lives for a gamble?” No one spoke, no one nodded. They knew, and she knew.

                “Good,” she slid the data disk into a handheld relay unit, and thrust both in her robes. “I’ll raise the prison wing.”

* * *

 

                Ezra was secretly (or may be not-so-secretly) relieved at the way their arrangement worked out. Ahsoka would be the only one to interrogate Vader face-to-face, while the rest of them stayed behind a sheet of one-way transparisteel.

                “It’s possible Vader will know you are there,” she admitted, and Ezra felt a brief flash of panic, “but we raided an old Seppie base a few months back and captured enough Jedi-restraint tech to keep him down- or at least, keep him down long enough to give you a head start.” Ezra found very little comfort in her reassurance. If Ahsoka noticed his unease, she didn’t comment, instead sliding in her earpiece.

                “Let’s keep the chatter to a minimum,” she said, with a meaningful look at Kanan. He folded his arms, passing the look on to Ezra, who choked back an outraged squawk. “I mean it. Vader may be beaten, but he’s not broken—we may never be fully sure what he’s capable of.” She looked through the window, gazing on their prisoner with a hard expression.

                It was difficult for Ezra to reconcile the almost superhuman being who’d nearly killed his whole team with the man in the interrogation cell. All of Vader’s armor was gone, and instead he wore a light cream tunic that still managed to stand out darkly against the corpselike pallor of his skin. His hands were cuffed in front of him, with what he assumed was one of Ahsoka’s Jedi-restraining devices. Ezra though it was a little strange that they hadn’t just taken all his prosthetics, but then, the thought of interrogating a torso was more than a little stomach-turning. Vader already looked pretty bad—his head nodded, his chin coming down to rest against his chest, his eyes half-closed. Ahsoka said they’d actually had to start using ronto tranqs on him to keep him under for any reasonable amount of time.

                As if he’d heard that thought, Vader’s head shot up, glaring at the one-way mirror. His eyes glowed a sick yellow—just like the Inquisitor’s. No, not like the Inquisitor—he’d always had a refined edge, an air of control. Vader looked wild, vicious—maybe rabid. Ezra squashed his creeping panic— _he can’t see me he can’t see me_ —but the memory of the invisible hand at his throat was there.

                “Ahsoka Tano,” Vader rasped. Now Ezra knew why he used a vocoder—if it wasn’t for the microphones hidden in the room they probably wouldn’t have been able to hear him at all. The terrifying rumbling bass was gone, and it was unlikely Vader’s own ragged voice could have made it past his oxygen mask unaided. The malice in his words, however, was clearly audible.

                Ahsoka only snorted. “So he can sense me, at least” she said. “There’s no point in waiting here any longer.” She started for the door, but Kanan reached forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. Ahsoka looked down at his hand, then met his eyes. They shared something, imperceptible even to Ezra, and she nodded in thanks. Kanan released her, and she squared her shoulders before entering the cell.

                “Vader,” Ahsoka stood, taking advantage of the only time she would ever tower over the Dark Lord. “The Sith have fallen a long way since my day. Not even Dooku was sorry enough to get captured by a _padwan_.”

                “A padawan is all you will ever be,” Vader shot back, “your Master cannot save you now.”

                “I’m not the one who needs a rescue,” Ahsoka shot back, coolly. “And I know very well what became of my _master_.” A flurry of expressions passed over Vader’s face, too fast for Ezra to read. His yellow eyes blazed.

                “Then you should be grateful to me,” he finally said, raising his chin. “Once Skywalker was gone I _decimated_ the Council who threw you out.”

                Kanan clenched his fist, biting down hard to keep from shouting. Hera grabbed him, squeezing his arm hard for support.  Ahsoka looked like could have used a friend as well, but the darkness passed from her and tension left her body.

                “So that’s it,” she replied, coolly. “You’re not responsible for what you did because you’re not Anakin? Even children have better excuses than that.” Vader snarled. He tried to stand, but the bounds holding him to the chair were strong, and his hands remained cuffed together and chained to the table.

                “Skywalker was _weak_ ,” he hissed. “I am built from him, but I am _better_.”

                “But still not too good for a prison cell,” Ahsoka shot back, almost flippant.

                Vader almost scoffed in response. “I will not be here for long.”

                “You look pretty well and imprisoned to me.”

                “The Emperor will find me,” there was something about Vader’s almost ecstatic expression that Ezra found deeply uncomfortable. “Even now, he perceives you in his mind’s eye. Do you think you can run from his sight? Soon, he will be here and I will have the privilege of tearing your forces apart—with my _bare hands_ —“

                “Big talk,” Ahsoka cut him off. “But it’s been a week and the Emperor is still on Coruscant, not particularly interested in where you are.” She tilted her head in mock-thoughtfulness. “We knew you were missing on Lothal before he did—maybe he still doesn’t know. Or maybe,” she leaned in, drawing as close to his face as she dared, “he has no use for an apprentice who can’t even overcome a Jedi exercise meant for _padawans_.”

                Vader threw himself against his bonds, his face etched with fury. Ahsoka took a half-step back, watching him struggle for a moment.

                “Face it. You’re not going anywhere.” She declared. “The Emperor can’t—or won’t—find you here. The Alliance—“

                Vader cut her off with a harsh croak of laughter.

                “The _Rebels_?” he scoffed. “ _That’s_ who you’ve thrown your lot in with? I had assumed you were looking for vengeance, but—what loyalty do _you_ have to the Old Republic?”

                “You wouldn’t know the first thing about loyalty, would you?” Ahsoka snapped, in spite of herself. Ezra shared a looked with Kanan. He kept his microphone muted.

                “Can she handle this?”

                “We have to trust her,” Hera said, firmly. “She’s the only one who can do this—none of us know Vader like her.”

                “The _Jedi_ betrayed the Republic,” Vader hissed, and the three of them where immediately drawn back into the interrogation. “They broke their oaths. Corruption ran rampant through the halls of the Senate. The Galaxy would have fallen to a thousand years of chaos—“

                “You don’t believe that,” Ahsoka said. “That’s—“

                “You think you know better? You weren’t _there_ ,” Vader growled. “You ran away.” He glared up at Ahsoka, mouth twisted in an ugly expression. “The Order was rotten. It had to be purged—and everything made anew in cleansing fire.”

                Nobody said a word. They all knew what had caused Vader’s scars. Hera looked like she might be sick—whatever madness had taken hold of Anakin Skywalker ran deeper than they could have known.

 “You want to topple the Empire? Do you think they will make you Grandmaster of a new Jedi Order? Do you think of those pathetic children—“ Vader gestured with his chin towards the glass—“as your _Initiates_?”

                “We don’t need a new Jedi Order,” Ahsoka stood tall. “The Jedi survive. You haven’t been able to kill us all.”

                “Give me time,” Vader hissed. Ezra could feel Vader’s hate seeping through the walls that separated them, caustic like acid against his shields. _How can anyone feel that way and still…live?_ he though, perhaps naively. He looked at Kanan, who shrugged.

                “The Sith let their dark nature consume them,” he answered, to Ezra’s unspoken question. “That’s why it’s impossible for those who fall to turn back. There’s just…not anything left.”

                “Obi-Wan thinks it can happen,” Ezra said, softly. Kanan looked pained.

                “Obi-Wan has been alone for a long time.” They lapsed into silence, watching Ahsoka contemplate her next move.

                “Your options are limited, Vader” she started. “The Emperor isn’t coming for you. He doesn’t care if you live or die. The Alliance, on the other hand…” she trailed off, meaningfully. “The footage of your execution would cause an unstoppable surge of uprisings throughout the Galaxy. Millions would come to dance on your grave.”

                Vader laughed. There was no warmth in it, no real mirth—in contrast to his furiously blazing anger, it was deathly cold.

                “You think you can kill me?” he asked, icily. “For fifteen years you and your rebels couldn’t do it. _Fifteen years_ ,” he spat the words out, “the Jedi have challenged me, and they have failed. I am the will of the Force made flesh. I cannot die until my task is done. Only then…” he trailed off, looking somewhere far away.

                “Do you think there’s a meadow on Naboo waiting for you when you die?” Ahsoka asked, her words falling like a whip crack. For the first time, Vader’s head snapped up in genuine astonishment, eyes wide.

 “That’s right,” Ahsoka said. “We know what you saw in the mirror—and we know just how _pathetic_ you really are,” she spat at him. “Do you think Padme Amidala would take you back with open arms?”

“Shut up,” Vader snarled. “Do _not_ —“

“How did Padme die?” Ahsoka hurled the question in his face. For a split second, Vader looked away. “She _never_ would have gone along with your little coup. She would have died fighting with her last breath—“

“SHUT _UP_!” Vader roared. The room began to vibrate, ominously. Ahsoka slammed a button on her belt and the glowing cuffs around Vader’s wrists released a wave of energy, causing Vader to convulse against his bindings. Ahsoka released the button after a few seconds, and Vader slumped over, panting. A curl of smoke rose from where his prosthetics met his skin, and Ezra could see blackened skin.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Vader started, hoarse, “then _do it_.” He leaned his head back, baring his throat. “I will give you _nothing_.”

Ezra looked at Kanan uncomfortably. Vader deserved to die, and if he wasn’t going to give them anything useful, then he was too dangerous to be left alive. But this…this was wrong.

“Coward,” Vader taunted. “You are just like your beloved Jedi— _weak_. If you can’t kill me then you will never defeat the Emperor. You will fail. Everyone you love will die…” Ahsoka reached for her belt, where her lightsabers hung.

“No! Ahsoka! Not yet! Not yet! He’s not—“ She turned to the glass, shooting them a look of disbelief. She reached past her belt, pulling forth her little holo display. She set it on the table, out of Vader’s grasp.

“I have a message for you,” she said, her voice perfectly calm, “from Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Vader sneered. “Another coward. He is unable to kill me himself _yet again—“_

“Quiet,” Ahsoka admonished. “He still thinks you are worth saving.” Two spots of color appeared on Vader’s cheeks, and Ezra imagined he could feel the heat of Vader’s fury aginst his skin, but Ahsoka ignored him. She activated the holo before Vader could start again.

Whatever they’d expected Obi-Wan’s message to entail, it wasn’t this. There was some muffled sounds off-camera, and after a few seconds a teenager flickered into view. He was on the smaller side, awkward and fidgety. Had it not been for his light hair, Kanan would have been reminded of Ezra.

“Ben? Is it on?” the boy asked. Hair flopped in his face, and he brushed it aside impatiently. “Oh! We’re recording right now!” He looked up, eyes shining. Vader stared at Ahsoka with an almost comical level of skepticism.

“This is a message for Anakin Skywalker,” the boy said, puffing out his chest. Vader glared back at the holo, a snarl on his lips. “My name is Luke—“ his confidence wavered for a moment, “and I guess you don’t know who I am, but…” he looked back up, almost meeting Vader’s gaze. “But I’m your son!”

“ _What_?!” Ezra couldn’t help himself. Kanan and Hera were too stunned to admonish him. Even Ahsoka’s mask of calm slipped, and her mouth dropped open. They were floored, but none of them were as shocked as Vader. His eyes widened, and Ezra felt a shockwave go through the Force—it was a little bit like being hit by a speeder with the words _how is this possible_? written on the side. Vader whipped his head to stare at Ahsoka for a half second, but was brought back to the holo when the boy started speaking again.

“You probably don’t know about me,” Luke said. “Mom died giving birth to me. For a long time I thought you were dead—we all did! But Ben—you know, Ben Kenobi, the old crazy hermit—oops, sorry Ben…”

Hera had her mouth covered. Kanan had both of his hands pressed against his temples, looking like he’d just blown a fuse. This was Vader’s kid. The little blond boy from the vision—he was _real_ …

And he was the furthest from Vader as any child could possibly be.

No one said a word as the boy in the holo—Luke—rambled on, talking about his likes (“I’ve got a T-16 Skyhopper, and I can fly it like _anything_!”) and his dislikes (“I have to go to school at home now but it’s still _boring_ ”). It was all useless, stupid chatter—but Vader was enthralled. He leaned in as close as his bonds would allow him, so that his nose was a bare centimeter from the figure. The sick yellow of his eyes seemed to fade, and his face grew soft. It wasn’t an expression Ezra would have thought Darth Vader was capable of making.

“I missed you,” Luke said, sadly. “I mean, I know we never met, and you were dead, but I did. Ben said you missed me too—well, no, that’s not right. He said you didn’t know about me, and that right after I was born you got lost—so lost no one knew were you were, and everyone assumed you were gone, but really you were being held prisoner. But I knew you still missed me.”

Luke’s face brightened. “But they found you! They’re coming to rescue you! Ben asked me to send a message for you, so you wouldn’t give up—I know fifteen years is a long time—I mean, that’s how long I’ve been alive—but you can’t stop fighting yet! Pretty soon I’ll be able to meet you!” Luke’s eyes shone brilliantly. Hera bit her lip, hard, and Ahsoka looked away for a moment.

“I love you dad!” Luke said. “I know it was probably hard when mom died, but I’m here! You’re not alone any more. Pretty soon the rescue team is gonna find you, and we’ll be a family again—or, for the first time! I can’t wait! I’m gonna show you were I live and—oh, Ben says the message is too long. OK, gotta go. Bye dad!” Luke waved with almost frantic enthusiasm. “See you soon!”

The hologram flickered out. There was absolute stillness in the interrogation room—no one moved, or spoke. Only Vader’s ragged wheezing broke the silence.

“ _Where_ ,” he hissed, his voice overflowing with barely-contained rage, “is my _son_?”

“We don’t know,” Ahsoka answered, still not fully recovered from her shock. “No one in the Galaxy but Obi-Wan—“

“Kenobi,” the name was like a curse in Vader’s mouth. “He stole my son.” Ezra wasn’t sure the pure hate emanating from Vader could be contained by another shock from his cuffs. “He stole our _baby_ —stole him from Padme’s still-warm corpse--!”

                “You want to see him?” Ahsoka cut him off. Vader’s head snapped up. “You want to meet Luke?” Vader actually bared his teeth.

                “If you hurt him,” he snarled, “you will _beg_ for death.”

                Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “Consider yourself fortunate that the Alliance has _ethics_ ,” she spat back in his face. “No harm will come to him. But if you want to see him outside of a hologram, then you need to offer us something good.”

                Vader stared at her, his eyes full of poison. If he could have willed their deaths—well, then they would have been dead a long time ago. No one spoke, watching Vader work furiously through his options.

                “Play it again,” he said, finally.

                “What will you—“

                “Play. It. _Again_.” Vader forced out, between clenched teeth. Ahsoka considered for a moment, then obliged him.

                “This is a message for Anakin Skywalker…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vader watching the hologram is definitely heavily inspired by that one scene in [How the SIth Brought LIfeday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/377554/chapters/616150), because every day is Sithmas if you try hard enough. Will there be a third chapter? Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who left a review or kudos-- they so much to me! Please be advised that this chapter contains an above average amount of violence, as well as references to alcohol use/abuse.

**Interlude: Tatooine, 14 years earlier**

Owen Lars swore profusely. He nudged the limp figure, slumped at the foot of a vaporator, with the end of his rifle butt and swore again.

It was Kenobi. He’d seen the Jedi skulking around the edges of his property in the months after he’d given them Luke and disappeared into the desert, and as long as he kept his distance Owen hadn’t minded. The Jedi were a strange bunch, but at least they’d been strange together. Now (from what he could gather), they were gone, wiped out, with only Ben (as he’d taken to calling himself) and his nephew Luke as a reminder they ever existed. He’d retreated from their doorstep, giving them only their nephew’s name and the news that Owen’s step-brother was dead before fleeing to the Jundland Wastes. Owen and Beru hadn’t had a chance to stop him.

Life in the desert wasn’t _for_ offworlders—and even moisture farmers didn’t live alone out there, in the heart of the wastes. Men went mad in the crushing emptiness of the Dune Sea, with nothing but the rush of the wind and the buzz of the rattlebugs for company. They left their bleached bones as tribute to the hungry sands and a warning to others.

Frankly, Owen was impressed Kenobi had made it this long.

The Jedi who’d appeared to them had been tired and battered, but clearly refined—well-mannered and well groomed. It was hard to see that Jedi in the man before him now. Kenobi’s beard had outgrown its neat trim; his hair was ragged and dull and already showing swaths of grey. In just a year grief and the desert had carved new lines in his face, at the borders of his sunken cheeks and across his forehead. His skin was a brilliant red, blistered and peeling from what could only have been a dangerous amount of exposure to the twin suns. The burn crept down his neck, across his hands and forearms and likely elsewhere. Owen knelt down and almost gagged—the man _stank_ , and not just for lack of a sonic shower. His breath was heavy with the smell of stale drink.

“Kenobi,” he said, firmly. He nudged the unmoving figure again. “Kenobi!”

The Jedi moaned, cracking his eyes open. They were red rimmed, almost the same shade as his skin. “Go away,” he slurred.

“This is my land,” Owen said, with a patience he didn’t feel, “you’re the one who shouldn’t be here.”

The Jedi raised his head, blearily. He seemed to immediately regret the action, putting a hand to his forehead to cover his eyes.

“Just—just give me a moment, Owen,” he said, that crisp accent of his failing to disguise how parched his throat must be. “Let me just…”

“How long have you been out here?” Owen cut him off. “A few hours?” Kenobi snuck a peak at the position of the suns, frowning. “ _Days_?”

 “Let me be,” he croaked. “Just…I’ll be on my way—“ Kenobi made a valiant effort to stand, but stumbled forward. Owen caught him around the chest.

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You’re not fit to drive—“ There was something about Kenobi’s expression that made him swear again. “You _walked_?”

“Luke,” was all Kenobi said in reply.  “I…I wanted to see…”

Owen sighed. He laid down his rifle, slinging Kenobi’s arm across his shoulders.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.”

They were greeted at the door by Beru, who immediately ran for the emergency med kit. Owen let Obi-Wan fall bonelessly into a chair, while Beru tried to find a vein. She pinched a handful of Kenobi’s skin, and it sagged rather than snapping back.

“This is bad,” she said, sliding the needle for home. She handed the pouch of emergency fluids to Owen so she could put her hands on her hips. “What if Owen hadn’t checked the vaporators today? You woulda died.”

Obi-Wan didn’t seem chagrinned by Beru’s chastisement. He didn’t seem to be bothered much at all by the idea of dying. He looked away from the two of them, eyes half-closed.

Beru left the room, and came back with a jug of water and a tub of clear balm. She poured a glass before kneeling in front of Obi-Wan. “Take it slow, foolish man,” she warned, putting the water to his lips. Kenobi didn’t heed her instructions, drinking too greedily, and ended up choking and sputtering. Beru waited, patiently, holding the back of his head with her hand. She stayed with him, tilting the glass in slow intervals, until he’d drunk the entire thing.  When he’d finished, she set the glass down and reached for the balm, taking his hand in hers.

“There’s easier ways to die,” she said, almost conversationally. She was gentle and methodical, but Obi-Wan still winced as she reached especially burnt patches of skin. “If you want to check out of this life, that’s your prerogative. But if you think little Luke wants to see your dried-out corpse sprawled on our doorstep, well,” she shrugged. “Then you aren’t thinking at all.”

This seemed to touch something in Obi-Wan. He looked up at Beru, a spark returning to his bloodshot eyes.

“I…am sorry,” he said, finally. “I shouldn’t be here. I’ll just—“ He tried to stand, but Owen pushed him back down into the chair with his free hand.

“You’re not fit to go anywhere,” he said. “When you’re ready, I’ll give you a lift back to your place. I’ll set you up with a new collection tank and then you and me are gonna pour out whatever poison you’ve got left stashed away.”

“I don’t—“

“Are you gonna sit in my kitchen, half-dead and with a needle in your arm, and tell me you don’t have a problem?” Beru asked, her voice quiet but dangerous. Wisely, Obi-Wan remained silent. She swiped the last of the balm down the bridge of his nose, across his forehead and cheeks. She stood, wiping her hands.

“We’re not the ones who decided you could never visit him,” she said, quietly. “That was you. But frankly, if you’re going to do this to yourself, then I _will_ ask you to not come around anymore. You act like this, you stay away. Got it?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  He moved to tuck his hands in his sleeves, but was stopped by the IV in his arm. For a long moment, Owen and Beru watched him—it wasn’t as if they weren’t moved by his obvious suffering. Beru herself was the one who’d told him not to chase Kenobi off those times they’d caught him skulking around. _He saw something out there_ , she said. _It did a real number on him_. _All he’s got now are ghosts and this little boy_. But even their compassion had limits—they could afford to be kind, but not _soft_. Not on Tatooine.

There was a cry from the next room. “Right on time,” she said, smiling. “Here, I’ll bring him out—you should see how big he is now.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, hurriedly. “That won’t be necessary—“ but Beru was already gone. It hardly took her a minute to quiet Luke, and when she re-emerged it was with an armful of wriggling one-year-old. He’d grown so much from the tiny, nearly underweight baby Obi-Wan had pressed into her arms that day, over a year ago. Now he had full, rosy cheeks and a thatch of sandy blond hair. Beru set him down in front of Obi-Wan, bare feet against the floor.

“Go on,” she said, “show Mr. Kenobi what you learned.” She removed her support, and the boy swayed dangerously, before taking a few brave, tottering steps forward. He overbalanced, falling forward, but caught himself by wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s shin. Luke looked up at him and and smiled, revealing just a handful of teeth and sparkling blue eyes. He laughed, in that hysterical, gleeful way only children can.

Obi-Wan covered his hand with his mouth and sobbed.

* * *

 

_“I won’t come back,” he’d told Owen, as the man prepared to head back for his own homestead. Owen stood in the door, looking back, concerned._

_“What, because of the Empire? They don’t have any hold out here—“_

_“No,” Obi-Wan interrupted, quickly. “Because of me. I—for Luke’s sake, I won’t come back.”_

_Owen looked at him with something close to pity, but he nodded in understanding. “Best of luck, then.”_

_He sped off into the purple twilight, and Obi-Wan was alone once more._

That had been fourteen years ago. Now, Obi-Wan was crouched behind the furthest vaporator on the Lars homestead once again, in clear violation of his promise.

_This is different_ , he thought to himself. _This is for Luke’s benefit_. But as soon as the words crossed his mind he knew they were lies. He shook his head. At the very least he could be honest with himself. This—this half-baked plan-- wasn’t even for Anakin. This was for _him_. He was selfish—just as selfish as he’d been during the Clone Wars…

“Ben!” A voice whispered, excitedly. Obi-Wan started—there was no way any child, much less _Anakin’s_ child, who shone in the Force like a newborn star, should have been able to sneak up on him. He _was_ getting old. Luke’s eyes sparkled, that same sky blue as the child who’d won his heart a decade and a half ago—the same as his father.

“Any news today?” he asked, in that conspiratorial whisper. “About—“ he looked around furtively, and lowered his voice even further, “my father?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Not today, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to keep a trace of amusement from his voice. Any mirth at Luke’s eagerness left him when the boy sagged, disappointed. This wasn’t fair. What he was doing to the boy, what he asked of Ahsoka—none of it was. Obi-Wan leaned forward, taking Luke’s chin in his hand and lifting his face so their eyes met.

“Have faith, Luke,” he said. “Things are…complicated.” Not a lie, but the perhaps the most massive understatement of his life. “It could be months before we hear anything. The rescue mission is…” he trailed off, but Luke hung on his every word. “…ongoing.”

“It’s taking so _long_ ,” Luke whined. “Can I send another message, at least?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It was risky, what we did. The Empire might notice, and then things would go bad for our friends. We have to refrain,” Luke looked so dejected, Obi-Wan could hardly stand it. “You have to be patient. For your father.”

Luke squared his shoulders, accepting the burden Obi-Wan laid on him—without even knowing how great a burden it was. “You’re right. For my father.” Luke looked at him, with that expression of awe he’d had when they first met. “Is he really a Jedi?”

“Both of us were,” Obi-Wan said, easily. The not-quite-lies just kept stacking up. “He flew a starfighter in the Clone Wars. He was the best and bravest of us all.”

“How did he get captured?” Luke asked. He was so…innocent. Obi-Wan felt the familiar twist of guilt in his gut—his only companion for the past fifteen years. He was a _liar_.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, quickly. “I didn’t—I didn’t know it would make you sad like that.” Obi-Wan drew back in surprise. His shields must be leaking—but even then, Luke should not have been able to read his emotions like that, totally untrained.

_Your boy is so strong, Anakin. And he’s_ good _. He’s so, so good._

“It’s alright, Luke,” he said, softly. He reached out and rested a hand on Luke’s head, ruffling the boy’s sandy hair. “I promise I will tell you someday.” _I owe you at least that much_. “But you had better run along now,” he voice became serious, “and remember—this must remain a secret.”

Luke hesitated. “Even from Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru?”

_You’re asking a child to lie for you_. _Some Jedi you turned out to be, Kenobi!_ “Yes,” he said, gravely. “It just has to be between the two of us. They may not…understand.”

“Uncle Owen definitely wouldn’t understand,” Luke griped, scowling and kicking at the sand. “He doesn’t _ever_ want to talk about my father. He doesn’t even want me to talk to you.”

“Your uncle has his reasons,” Obi-Wan said, half-heartedly. It was true that his continued presence made Owen more and more uneasy as the years went on, but the Empire’s slow encroachment into the Outer Rim—and the proliferation of anti-Jedi propaganda—were the cause of that. “He loves you and cares for you, Luke.”

Luke furrowed his brow, like he wanted to argue (he was a teenager, after all), when they were interrupted by a voice carrying across the sand. “Luke? Luke? It’s time for supper!”

“Coming, Aunt Beru!” Luke shouted back, automatically, but looked at Obi-Wan with reluctance in his eyes. Obi-Wan waved him on.

“Go on,” he said. “Going hungry won’t make the news come any faster.” Luke nodded, and scurried off back to the homestead. Once he was gone, Obi-Wan pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and sighed.

He was gambling with these people’s lives. Any second, the homestead could be surrounded by a phalanx of stormtroopers—or perhaps Vader wouldn’t even bother to land on the planet he hated so much, instead bombarding the small domed buildings from orbit until there was nothing but a smoking crater—

No. That wouldn’t happen. Vader would never harm the boy—at least, not in such an outright manner.

And Anakin…

Anakin was alive. He was alive somewhere, inside the shell of Vader. Obi-Wan knew he should have given Anakin one last gift—even now, he should tell them to kill Vader, to set Anakin free. Had he truly loved his padawan, he would have done that fifteen years ago, instead of consigning him to live as a monster…

But he was selfish. He was selfish, and he had a foolish dream; a hopeless, impossible wish. For all his years of training, all the discipline, all the careful self-mastery he’d once practiced, he was unable to will away his desire. He wanted something that could never be…and now he knew, with a certainty that burned in his heart, that Anakin shared that wish. Some part of his padawan was _alive_ , untouched by his failure, and was calling out for him.

_Come back to me, Anakin. Come home and meet your son._

* * *

The interrogation when downhill fast after the revelation of Vader’s son. Ahsoka may have overplayed her hand in assuring Luke’s safety—not the any of them there would _ever_ have hurt the boy, even if they knew where he was.  But the Sith didn’t need to know that _explicitly_. Now, recovered from his initial shock and with Luke’s continued well-being assured, Vader was back to being decidedly unhelpful.

“Give me my son,” he’d snarl.

“You give us something first,” Ashoka would reply.

“You wouldn’t live long enough to use the information. Every one of you will pay for taking him from me.”

The words, jibes, and threats changed, but they essentially retread the same ground for _hours_.

“Why doesn’t Ahsoka just shock him again?” Ezra asked, trying not to sound like he was bored.

“We don’t torture,” Hera answered, sharply. “That’s not what the Alliance stands for.”

“I get that, but this is _Vader_. He’s…” Ezra gestured, helplessly. “He definitely deserves it.”

“Of course he does,” Hera came over, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And if I got a chance to use the shock cuffs on him, you’d have to fight me to take them away. I would enjoy _every second_ —but that’s exactly _why_ we don’t do things like that. Without our principles, we’re not better than monsters like him.” Ezra looked up at her. Hera was smiling wistfully at him, with a softness to her green eyes he hadn’t seen since before the disastrous mission began. “Do you understand?”

“I think so,” he replied, uncertain.

“It wouldn’t be useful, anyways,” Kanan grunted, not taking his eyes off the proceedings. “Just look at him—is there anything we could do to him that Obi-Wan didn’t do first?”

Kanan had a point—every time Ezra spared a glance at Vader, he saw another piece of a gruesome puzzle. Vader was like something out of a nightmare, or an anti-cyborg propaganda pamphlet. He didn’t seem like an organic being, more like the product of some barbaric experiment that merged flesh with circuitry, performed by someone who didn’t care how much damage they did to either component in the process.

“The Sith exist to create pain, Ezra,” Kanan said, softly. “They take pleasure from hurting others, and there are even records of ancient Sith Lords who gained power in the Force through their own agony. We could shock Vader all day, but it would probably just give him enough juice to break out of here.”

“Seriously?” Ezra asked weakly. Kanan nodded.

“But even if that wasn’t true, our ethics would still stay our hand,” Hera said, shooting Kanan a dangerous look.

“Sure,” he agreed, but didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic. “Ethics.”

Back in the interrogation room, Ahsoka was giving up. She was telling Vader “—we’ll give you some time to think your options over—though it really shouldn’t take long. You have one choice: give us something we can use or rot here.” With that, she turned and headed for the door.

“Stop,” Vader called. Ahsoka half turned, head cocked.

“Leave the holo,” he said. Hera, Kanan, and Ezra stared through him at the glass in disbelief. Ahsoka walked back to the table—slow, deliberate—and set the replay device at the far end, well out of Vader’s grasp.

“Reach out with your senses,” she said, mockingly, before sweeping out of the room. She cut the mic feed to the interrogation cell, so they wouldn’t be subjected to Vader’s angry ranting.

Now free of Vader’s heavy gaze, Ahsoka released her Jedi bearing, her shoulders going slack. She put her hand up to her face, massaging her temples. “Anakin has a son,” she whispered, as if the three of them weren’t present. There was a kind of fragile reverence in her voice, and Ezra hated to ruin her moment.

So Kanan did.

“You think that was Anakin Skywalker in there?” Kanan asked, folding his arms across his chest. Ahsoka snapped her head up, glaring.

“You saw that boy. He is no son of Vader’s. He must have been conceived before…” Ahsoka’s mouth twisted, “the fall of the Republic.” _The fall of the Order, the fall of Anakin Skywalker,_ and _the_ _catastrophe_ , were all somehow conveyed in her tone.

“Padme would never have—not after he became _that_.”  

“Wait—Padme?” Hera asked, eyebrows raised. “Padme Amidala? The senator?” Ahsoka nodded. Hera put a hand over her heart, genuinely taken aback.

“Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala--? They were--? And you _knew_?”

Ahsoka nodded again, her expression grave. “I did,” she said, quietly. “Well—I knew Anakin was lax about his attitudes toward the Code. If I had known where that laxness would lead…” she shook her head, lekku swaying. “The war was eating us alive. I didn’t begrudge him a little relief, from time to time. But I didn’t think they were stupid enough to bring a _child_ into it. I thought—“ she turned, staring at Vader through the one-way glass. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration, like he was desperately trying to overcome the Force-dampening tech and bring the holodisk to him.

“I was wrong about a lot of things,” she finished quietly.

“If Skywalker was playing fast and loose with the tenets of the Order,” Kanan started, harshly, “then there must have been signs he was going to—“

“Is this a nest of gundarks you really want to stir up?” Ahsoka asked, coolly. “Code adherence?” She looked from Hera to Kanan, who were both suddenly determined to look anywhere but each other. Ahsoka let it go, shaking her head. “I left the Order because of the Council—not Anakin. If I had known he was in this deep with the Senator—or the Chancellor—well,” she shrugged. “Things would be different. We could spend hours debating this, but we won’t. It’s pointless. We have to live in the now.”

“The Senator’s funeral was well publicized,” Hera started, breaking the awkward silence. “She—her body was very, _very_ pregnant.”

“Or made to look that way,” Kanan said, rubbing his chin. “What if it happened like this—Amidala is killed for refusing to support the new Empire. Somehow, Obi-Wan saves the baby, makes it look like she’s still carrying the child, and then spirits off to who knows where to raise the kid as a Jedi—“

“Obi-Wan’s not raising that kid,” Ahsoka said, with certainty. “No Temple youngling was ever so…” she couldn’t help the tiny smile that played across her lips. “He’s so much like Anakin, in his own way.”

“That worries me,” Kanan said, clearly not sharing her enthusiasm. Hera scowled.

“Come on, do you think that kid is anything like Vader?”

“Did you think Anakin Skywalker was?” Kanan shot back. There was silence in the room once again. Kanan exhaled hard, nostrils flaring.

“Kenobi is taking such a risk,” he said. “Vader’s son-- Luke—he must be strong in the Force. Maybe even as strong as Skywalker was. If the Empire finds him…”

“The Empire wouldn’t have found him—not when they weren’t looking,” Ahsoka said, sparing another glance at Vader through the glass. “But now that he knows…”

“Kenobi had the Galaxy’s best hope—what could have been our ace in the hole—and he spent it trying to get Vader to play nice with us,” Kanan said, harshly.

“That kind of talk is exactly why Obi-Wan was right to have Luke raised as a civilian and not a Jedi,” Ahsoka admonished, severely. “He’s just a boy. He’s not a tool, or responsible for what Vader did.”

 Kanan held out his hands, conceding her point. “You’re right. You’re right. I—“ Kanan pressed his lips together in a harsh line. “I think Master Kenobi may be too close to the subject and too far from the reality of our situation.”

“You might be correct there,” Ahsoka conceded. “His hope for Anakin is totally misplaced. But he was absolutely correct about one thing—Vader wants that boy.” Nobody turned, but the four of them could all see Vader, staring intently at the holodisk, like it was the only thing in the Galaxy that mattered. “It’s only a matter of time before he cracks and—“

“We’re not giving Vader access to a child,” Hera said, firmly. “Not in any capacity.” She moved closer to Ezra, placing a hand on his shoulder in what might have been an unconscious gesture. Ezra  realized he didn’t know if Hera has been knocked unconscious by Vader’s attack in the Temple, or if she’d seen him struggling and choking in the Sith Lord’s grasp.

“Of course not,” Ahsoka agreed, “but he doesn’t need to know that. Like I said, we give this enough time and he’ll cave. Vader would do anything for someone he thinks of as _his_ ,” there was a faraway look in her eyes, like she was seeing something that had happened a long time ago. “There are some things that don’t change,” she finished, quietly.

Ahsoka’s commlink beeped, as if it had been waiting for an opportune moment.  The image of a harried looking Mirulan sprang to life in Ahsoka’s palm. “Medbay here,” he said, “requesting—the uh, the patient.” Ahsoka’s eyebrows raised.

“What for?” she asked.

 “We’ve been reviewing the results of some of our tests—trying to map out Vader’s hardware-- and we found…an anomaly.”

“An anomaly? What does that mean?”

The Mirulan hesitated. “It’s—I’m not really sure,” he said, uneasily. “It could be nothing—it could be everything. If this is what I think it is—speculation isn’t going to do any good. I need to be sure—doubly, _triply_ sure—before I make any guesses.” Ahsoka blinked in surprised, before tilting her head, considering.

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll be there shortly.” The medic nodded, and the holo cut out.

“You’re not trying to fix that, are you?” Kanan asked in disbelief, jerking a thumb toward Vader.

“Not even if we could,” she said, breezily. “But if I learned anything from the Clone Wars, it was that knowledge is power.” She stood in front of the glass, her back turned to them, taking a moment to look on Vader.

“Know your enemy,” she said, with a quiet firmness. Ezra could almost hear the sad lament under her words— _I thought I knew you once. I thought we were friends once. I was wrong._

Ahsoka turned. “I’m going to getting Vader tranqed up and ready to move. Captain Syndulla?” Hera snapped to attention. “We’re going to have to make a report to High Command about what we’ve learned so far—“

“Commander, I have serious reservations--” Hera started, but Ahsoka raised her hand for silence.

“I understand. Start the report, and I’ll meet with you after I deliver Vader to the medbay,” she paused. “There is only so much information we should convey on an unsecured hololink, after all.”

Hera nodded, saluted, and set off.

“You two,” Ahsoka said, to Kanan and Ezra, “go clear the hallways—tell them to implement the protocol for sensitive prisoner transport. Then you’re free to go.” She paused, considering. “I suggest you meditate on what you have learned here.”

Kanan shook his head. “The Force is clouded. It hasn’t revealed anything to me since we pulled Vader from the Temple.”

“Things are in motion,” Ahsoka replied. “The balance of the Galaxy has shifted.”

“In our favor?”

“That remains to be seen,” she said. She made a shooing motion, and Kanan inclined his head—nudging Ezra to remind him to do the same—before taking off.

* * *

 

Sabine looked up from her cards. Zeb was staring at her, frowning.

“Come on, big guy. We both know you’re losing. Be a good sport about it.”

But Zeb didn’t laugh. He set his cards down (face down, still in their fan) and leaned back in his chair.

“Do you ever think we’re in too deep?” he asked, unusually pensive. Sabine set her own cards down, concerned. “You know, with this…Rebel Alliance thing?”

“We’ve been sabotaging Imperial military operations for years now. I don’t know why calling it ‘rebellion’ instead of just plain old ‘stealing’ would make a difference.”

“It’s not that—“ He rubbed the back of his head. “You’re a human. Your brain won’t even be fully developed for another ten years.”

“Uh, first of all: _rude_ ,” Sabine said, folding her arms across her chest. “Why do you care about my human brain all the sudden?”

“I did some reading the other day. We’ve got nothing but time, being grounded.”

“I mean, good for you, learning your human physiology, but what brought _this_ on?”

Zeb shrugged. “I forget that you and Ezra are just kits, sometimes.”

“You had better not start calling me that,” Sabine warned. “Both me and Ezra were just fine alone. I can take care of myself.”

“You _can_ ,” Zeb said, “but if the Empire has more—what’re they called— _Siths_ like Vader on hand…” 

“That’s the point,” Sabine said, “they _don’t_.”

Zeb shook his head. “I just…” he gestured, helplessly. “Hera is right. It feels irresponsible, dragging you out into the line of fire.”

“I have just as much right to take on the Empire as you do,” Sabine shot back, eyes flashing. “What they did to us—you think I’m just going to sit back, and wait for someone else to fix the Galaxy? Newsflash: that’s not going to happen.”

Zeb’s ears drooped. “You’re right, you’re right,” he said. “It’s just…not fair, is it?”

“No one promised me it would be _fair_ ,” Sabine snapped.

“I’m not saying—whatever it is you think I am,” Zeb said, quietly. “I just think you two deserve a life that—doesn’t look like _this_.”

Sabine bit her lip. The lasat was never this quiet- if she shouted at him, then he should shout back. They sat in silence for a moment, both of them feeling like small boats adrift in a dark sea.

“Look,” she said, softly. “If your hand was that bad, you just had to ask me to redeal, OK?”

Zeb huffed, in mock irritation, but his face broke into a wide grin. “Cheeky,” he growled, playfully. “You and Ezra both. When I was your age—“

“Oh no. Do _not_ start with that—“

“—I respected my elders and never once sassed or talked back—“

“I will flip this table, Garrazeb Orrelios. I will draw a mean picture of you hundred meters high—“

“—none of the kits I grew up with would ever exhibit such disgraceful behavior—“

“Do _not_ start calling me that! I’ll tell Hera!”

Within moments, their unease was forgotten. Sabine hoped Zeb had the good sense not to bring up that kind of talk anymore.

* * *

 

“Commander Tano?” Ahsoka paused at the edge of the medbay. “We got a call from the prison wing. One of the stormtroopers you captured on Lothal wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him no,” she said. “I’m busy, and there are _channels_ for Imperial defection—“

“He’s insisting you talk to him,” the rebel soldier said, shrugging apologetically. “He says the Jedi promised him amnesty—“

“I’m almost certain Jarrus did no such thing,” Ahsoka interrupted, drily.  

“I feel the same way, Commander, but the buckethead says he has intel you need to hear ASAP. He’ll only give it to you.”

Ahsoka sighed. At least there was one Imp who wanted to cooperate with her today. “Fine. I’ll be there in a less than a minute.” _Hopefully I won’t keep Hera waiting too long_ , she thought, jabbing the correct buttons on the turbo lift.

The prison wing had been cleared of debris, but the scars of Vader’s escape attempt remained. Ahsoka ignored the empty wing, where they’d kept the dark lord before they’d been able to keep him down with a combination of drugs and restraints, and headed to the more populated area. Here they housed the handful of stormtroopers they’d captured on Lothal as well as Vader.

Ahsoka stepped inside the ray shields. “I’m busy,” she said, “you have five minutes.”

The trooper leaned sideways, trying to look around her, frowning. “Where’s Vader?”

“You have four minutes thirty seconds.”

“He’s gonna kill you for what you did,” the trooper said, seriously, “stripping him down like that. I watched you march him past. _Humiliating_.”

“You said you had information, so tell me something I don’t already know,” Ahsoka snapped. The trooper held up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“Look, when you let me go, I just want to be as far away from him as I possibly can. As in, the-other-side-of-the-Core-from-here far.”

“And why should we let you go, again?”

The trooper glanced back and forth, furtively, before answering “because you have a mole.”

Ahsoka let him know _exactly_ how she felt about that accusation with a string of violent curses . The trooper raised his hands again in that same placating gesture.

“Look, you’re free to be wrong, but—“

“I can vouch for every being on this base. I handpicked them all.”

“Even the biomechanics you brought in to work on Vader?” Beneath her markings, Ahsoka went pale “It’s the rodian. Worked with him just after I left the academy on Carrida—“

“What’s a rodian doing working for the Empire? Their hatred for nonhumans isn’t a secret.”

The trooper shrugged. “He was always a weird one. Recognized him right away, tried to get him to help me out and he just ignored me—like he didn’t want anyone to know I knew him. He didn’t defect at all-- he’s still with the Empire. Worst of all, he turned his back on _me_ , so here I am, helping you out.”

Ahsoka was already punching the necessary frequencies into her commlink. “If you’re right about this,” she was saying, “I’ll guarantee—“

She never got a chance to make her promise. Before she could finish her sentence, they were interrupted by the mournful wail of the base’s alarms.

_We’re under attack_. For a second, the world seemed to stop, and the only thing that existed was the base klaxon blaring in her ears. _It’s too late. The mole let them in. I failed—I gambled and we lost, we lost we lost we lost_ —

Ahsoka tore out of the cell, shouting directions as she ran. “Evacuate the prisoners!” she bellowed, her voice only cracking slightly. She drew one lightsaber, keeping her other hand free to bark orders into her comm. “Don’t just stare at me! We are under attack! Move! _Move_!”

* * *

 

Vader tilted his head, filled with grim satisfaction, as alarms blared through the medbay. It had taken them long enough. Soon, he would be free from his humiliating captivity. The medic studying him swore, a long stream of curses, before barking orders to pack everything up and evacuate. It would do them no good.

Once he was free, the first order of business was to kill them—every last rebel, down to a man, saving only his former apprentice for last. Perhaps, once he had punished her, she would join him. He was in need of a reliable agent. Perhaps she would repent for her transgressions, be made to see reason—

No. Ahsoka had changed, but not that much. She would not see reason, and thus she would die, and her band of half-trained padawans would die, and he would be that much closer to exterminating the Jedi Order.

They would all pay. Maybe he _would_ save them for last. Maybe he would imprison them in this makeshift medbay, lock the doors from the outside, and set it aflame. The base would burn and their screams would be they currency with which they paid for ripping him from the arms of his love—

_No_! Vader clamped down on that thought, with every ounce of mental strength his possessed. _Do not think about the mirror. Do not_ \--

_Two sets of hands against his face, one soft, one edged in calluses._ We forgive you, Anakin _, they whispered to him._ We’re so glad you came back to us—

Vader bit down on his tongue, hard, the pain helping him push those memories down. _It wasn’t real. It was a trap. They weren’t_ real. _I don’t have anything to be forgiven for. They are the ones—the Jedi—the Jedi caught him in a moment of weakness, they tricked him, they would pay—_

A Sith existed in the present. His beloved was in the past. The punishment of the Jedi was in the future. Now, he could only wait—hadn’t his master told him? Patience, Lord Vader. Soon, you will have vengeance on the ones who took everything from you. Hadn’t Kenobi recently revealed himself? Soon Vader would be able to destroy the man who’d taken his wife, his body—

_His son._

His son. His name was Luke, and he was _real_ —real even in a way the Jedi’s treacherous mirror was not. This was no trick, he knew, he felt the Force reverberate in his bones when he spoke those words—

_I’m your son!_

His son. Padme’s son. Her motherly intuition had been right—the boy from his vision, and not the girl he’d imagined, had survived his mother. He survived, and he was _perfect_. Torn from Padme’s belly before she was even cold, and secreted away, but soon they would be together and Vader could give him

\-- _everything_ —                                                                                                                                              

everything he deserved. His _birthright_. Everything the traitor Kenobi had ever denied him would be restored. _I will make the Galaxy see you for what you are, you will lead them to a new, glorious future and they will kneel before their savior_ —

The sound of blasters drew him from his reverie. He’d been so deeply immersed in his thoughts he’d forgotten about the circumstances of his rescue. A phalanx of stormtroopers trotted into the medbay, blasters drawn, and the medics immediately put their hands up in surrender. They were put in cuffs and dragged away. Vader sat, waiting for one of his men to remove his bindings, but none of them made a move towards him.

_They do not recognize me_ , he thought, with a flash of ire. The troopers parted, and Vader’s anger only grew at the grey-coated officer leading the operation.

“Tagge,” he rasped, not bothering to conceal his irritation. The man drew up short, his eyes raking over Vader’s ruined face and exposed prosthetics.

“Vader,” he said, with a similar lack of decorum. “I must say, you’ve looked better.”

The troopers shifted uneasily. Was this their leader, cut down to size? _Let them stare_ , Vader thought, furiously. _Let them know what it means to give_ everything _in service to the Empire_.

“Where’s Tarkin?” he barked in response.

“The Grand Moff is occupied with his duties on Lothal. When he received word of your whereabouts, he sent the fleet closest to come to your rescue. You are welcome, by the way.”

Vader said nothing. He wouldn’t give Tagge the benefit of seeing his rage. Once he was free from his bindings he would teach this petty man the price of insolence. Tagge cocked his head, considering.

“Leave us,” he said, to the troopers. “Secure the base.” They were gone in a series of affirmatives and the tromp of plastoid boots. Still, Tagge made no move to undo his bindings.

“What are you waiting for?” Vader ground out.

“Nothing,” Tagge said, lightly. “I’m just…taking my time, I suppose.” He took a step closer, but continued to survey the captive Sith before him.

“Our informant provided us with some _very_ interesting holomessages,” he went on, almost conversationally. “I, for one, found them extremely enlightening. Perhaps you would enjoy them, too,” Tagge shot him a sidelong look, “ _Anakin_.”

Vader forgot to school his expression, pulling his upper lip back and showing his teeth. “That is _not_ my name,” he growled.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Tagge agreed. “No, for what you do you required a new name—a new physique, even.” Silence stretched between them. “Your past is interesting, I must admit, but not the most interesting thing I learned of.” Tagge fished a holoplayer out of his pocket, and Luke’s image sprang to life in his palm. Vader’s gut twisted in a way he hadn’t experienced in fifteen years.

“Forget what you saw,” he said, quickly—too quickly. “The boy is none of your concern.”

“Oh I think he is,” Tagge smiled—like he was about to let Vader in on a secret. “Did the Rebels offer him to you as a sacrificial lamb? As the price of your loyalty?” he paused again, mock considering. “I doesn’t matter now. I’m ready to make you a counter offer.” Tagge leaned in close, his eyes locked on Vader’s burning yellow ones.

“If you want this boy to live, you will serve under me _exclusively_.”  

In other circumstances, he would have laughed right in Tagge’s face. Vader served _no one_ but the Emperor. No one else was _worthy_ of his service. The general had no idea what the true price of Vader’s loyalty was.  

But Tagge had threatened his son—threatened _Luke_ , the brilliant light so recently appeared at the center of his galaxy. For that, he would die _screaming_ , choking on his own entrails. Vader surged to his feet, advancing on the general like a dark omen, even as he dragged his oxygen tank behind him. The foolish man didn’t even have the sense to be scared, simply smiling as Vader drew closer. He reached down, pulling a small square device from his belt. He tapped a button with his thumb—

Vader went to the floor, hard. He barely was able to catch himself with his cuffed hands, only just preventing his face from meeting the ferrocrete. He’d collapsed with his legs folded under him, as if he was kneeling. He struggled, trying to get back on his feet.

His legs wouldn’t move.

Vader fought, trying to reach his lower extremities, but it was as if they were no longer a part of him. A kind of animal panic settled into his brain.

“Vader, did you know,” Tagge began, as if he were point out an amusing anecdote, “that a _significant_ amount of your spinal cord is artificial? It’s not unusual, when one receives a large number of  cybernetic enhancements, to have this done—it ensures the nervous system doesn’t overload from all the demands of the prosthetics.” Tagge crouched down in front of Vader, watching his face intently. “The downside is that much of your _organic_ nervous system was damaged or destroyed during the installation of the artificial…and, of course, that devices of this nature are so _terribly_ easy to alter—say, in a way that would allow them to be deactivated remotely.”

The cold hand of fear grasped Vader around the throat. His heart raced, his breath came too fast, in short, sharp gasps.

“Really, Lord Vader,” Tagge’s voice of dripping with condescension. “You don’t recall commandeering my ship, superseding my command? Making yourself at home and installing a hyperbaric chamber in the heart of my star destroyer?  You don’t remember all the maintenance you required during that particular campaign?” Tagge shook his head. “You were so free with your personal data, Vader—you didn’t even mindwipe the droids that assisted you in repairs. You hardly paid any attention to what they were _doing_ to you—it was so easy to ask them to install a few little upgrades of my own, right into the Emperor’s most feared weapon.”

“You—“

“Hush,” Tagge commanded, tapping another button. Vader’s heart began to beat erratically, fast—too fast—and he found himself unable to draw breath. He gaped, mouth open—he was truly, totally helpless.

“I like you better this way,” Tagge said. “Quiet. This suits you, I think.” He reached out and tapped his finger against the base of Vader’s throat. “The Emperor gave you a new voice, but I think you would be better served if I took it away. You’ll come to agree too, in time. What you have needed for more than a decade is a firm hand on your leash.  In time, you will come to appreciate that I am --”

Tagge leaned in close—too close. Vader struck, bringing his forehead down against Tagge’s face with a sick _crack_. The general broke away with a cry, clutching his face while blood poured between his fingers. Vader allowed himself a laugh—it came out more like a wheeze. In retaliation, Tagge booted him in the face—hard. Vader was unable to even raise his hands to defend himself, and his head snapped back with the force of the blow.

 “I see now that it will take some time before you come to appreciate your new status,” Tagge said, mild amusement replaced with sharp disdain. “You will learn your place, or your son will pay for your insolence.” Vader’s head shot up at that. “That’s right. You think you can protect him from me? You can’t even stand.” He was right. He was _right_. Icy fear flooded Vader, but none of it could help him—that Dark Side was so far from his grasp— _he is going to find Luke there will be no one to protect my son_ —

Tagge wiped his mouth, his grey sleeve coming away crimson.

“Perhaps I should cut out the middle man. We have the coordinates already of the transmission’s genesis, and the ships are in route. If your son has the same abilities as you, then surely with a few—modifications—he’d be a more than suitable replace—“

Tagge never got to finish that thought. A lightsaber erupted from his chest, a shaft of brilliant white light directly through the heart. He stared at it, astonished, before the light left his eyes and he crumpled to the ground. Ahsoka stood behind him—for a moment, Vader was reminded of the statues flanking the entrance to the Temple—solemn, grand, unmovable in their resolve.

“Your flunkies talk too much, Vader.”

He didn’t reply, only stared up at her, mouth set in a hard line. Let her gloat, over having the ruin of the Jedi lying helpless at her feet. He had no pride left.

Ahsoka leaned over, easily taking the remote from Tagge’s limp fingers. She turned it over in her hand, considering for a moment. If she wanted to, she could end him—stop his heart, then and there. In the interrogation cell, he’d been confident she wouldn’t have the stomach to kill him in cold blood—and he’d been almost disappointed by that. Now…

_Luke…he needs me…_

He wouldn’t beg.

Ahsoka tapped the side of the device, gently. Vader gasped, involuntarily, as his lungs returned to their full capacity—or, rather, they were unburdened of the effects of Tagge’s treachery. He pushed himself off the floor, stumbling slightly, but back on his feet once again. He advanced on Ahsoka, but she leveled her blade on him, holding the remote up with her other hand.

“Can you dress yourself?” She asked. Vader was taken aback by the question. “Do you know where we’re keeping your suit and armor?” she pressed. Vader could sense the dark side energies surrounding his suit—his hatred of the thing had left an indelible mark in the Force. He nodded, uncertain. Ahsoka took a step forward, blade extended. Vader didn’t flinch. She flicked the tip through his bindings, freeing his hands.

“You have ten minutes,” Ahsoka said. “If you waste time, I’m coming after you. Meet me in the corridor.”

“And then what?”

Ahsoka fixed him with a hard stare. “Then you help me mop up the last of your stormtroopers.”

Vader felt another wave of white-hot fury wash over him. “And if I refuse?”

She waggled the remote in her hand. “I don't think you can,” she said, then clipped the remote to her belt. “What, you think I wouldn’t use it?” she asked, reading the clear look of disbelief and outrage on his face. “It’s been a long fifteen years, _Darth_. Try and keep up.” He stared at her, unmoving.

 “Come on. Ten minutes, let’s go!”

* * *

 

Ezra moved faster than he ever had in his life. He was immersed in the Force—it was like being in the zone, like hitting every mark again and again on a crowded street, like flying with no traffic—it was _intense_. But even so, he couldn’t quite keep up with Kanan, who moved even faster—sending blaster bolts back to their senders, picking off the troopers one by one. They couldn’t get close enough to mount an actual offense—all they could do was draw fire away from Hera, Sabine, and Zeb, who were returning fire valiantly from where they were pinned down.

 They’d almost made it to the hanger—the Ghost was _right there_ , just within sight. The orders were to evacuate the base—Ahsoka had told them the moment they came aboard to scramble at the first site of the Imps, and to blow up what was left on their way out.  They weren’t supposed to be making a furtive last stand, holed up against the endless waves of stormtroopers that poured out of the transports screeching into the hanger.

“We can’t keep this up!” Ezra shouted, desperate not to break concentration now. “There’s just too many of them! We gotta retreat!”

“To _where_?” Kanan shouted back. He took a half second to reach out and push with the Force, sending three troopers flying, but they got back up and continued to fire just seconds later. “The ship is _over there_. If you have any bright ideas--”

Ezra didn’t. He was about to turn, to implore Hera to see reason (even if that meant letting go of her most precious baby), when he heard a sound behind them that stopped his heart.

The steady rasp of mechanical breathing.

Ezra felt out of the Force with a sharp jolt. He felt the hand against his neck again, squeezing tighter, choking the life out of him—

Vader sailed over their encampment of crates like something out of a holomovie, cape streaming behind him. He landed in a crouch on the floor with a crash that seemed to shake the hanger walls, then drew himself to his full height. He held out his hand and— _used it to deflect the blaster bolts_ , what! Kanan had _not_ told him that was something you could do—

Slowly, the blaster fire tapered off as the stormtroopers recognized their leader. “Lord Vader?” one of them asked, cautiously. Vader turned to Kanan, who was watching the proceedings, stunned.

“Give me that,” he snapped, with what Ezra could have sworn was annoyance, and Kanan’s lightsaber flew out of his grasp. Ezra had known that they were living on borrowed time, ever since they’d stepped foot in the Temple on Lothal. Vader was going to kill them for real this time. He—

He turned from the Rebels, advancing on the stormtroopers. “Who among you serves Tagge?” he rumbled, bearing down on them like a wrathful god. “Who among you is a _traitor_ to the Emperor?”

Vader gave the troopers no time to answer his question. He reached the edge of the line, and what followed could only be described as a massacre. Kanan was an unbelievable warrior, and in the three months they’d been with Ahsoka she’d demonstrated her own prowess in battle, but Vader—he tore through the stormtoopers like shrapnel punching through flesh. The Ghost crew could only watch in horror as he began systematically destroying the entire squadron. _How can something that big move so fast_? Ezra thought, dazed. The troopers didn’t even have time to run. In Vader’s hands, Kanan’s lightsaber was an instrument of terror. He could only be described as _methodical_ in his work; the hanger was littered with smoking bodies, and soon the last if the troopers fell beneath Vader’s swings.  He stood, surrounded by corpses on all sides, his mask angled down at the rebels.

“What just happened?” Zeb asked, in a hushed tone. Vader did not answer.

“The base is clear,” Ahsoka’s voice rang out from behind them. She gracefully stepped over the bodies, barely even sparing a downward glance at them, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to do. “All surviving personnel are out.” It was almost like she didn’t even notice Vader standing there, in the center of the carnage—or she didn’t particularly care. She turned, eyeing the bloodbath in the hanger with a critical eye.

“Good job,” she said to Vader, almost mockingly. She nodded to Kanan. “Give it back to him.”

Vader stood, unmoving. He didn’t say a word. Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed.

“Give it back,” she said, with a dangerous undertone to her voice. The Ghost crew exchanged furtive glances with each other— _is she insane_?

Then, amazingly, unbelievably, Vader held out his arm and let Kanan’s lightsaber drop from his grasp. If it was anyone else in the entire Galaxy, Ezra would have described the move as… _petulant_. Ahsoka snorted.

“Fine. Have it your way. Hold out your hands.” Vader— and at this, Ezra almost rubbed his eyes, totally astounded—did so obediently. Ahsoka moved forward and slapped another pair of shock cuffs around his wrists.

“I am going to kill you,” Vader’s words were quiet, but hardly soft. Ezra felt the deep bass of his voice reverberate in his bones, and he was almost afraid It might shake him apart. “You will die _screaming_.”

“Always something to look forward too,” Ahsoka replied, glibly. “In the meantime—“ she paused, cocking her head. She and Vader turned in unison—they sensed the same thing. A forest green rodian was trying to sneak to one of the transports, picking his way between the bodies. Sabine clipped him with a stun blast and he went down to the floor, clutching his numb thigh. The seven of them raced to meet him before he could recover. 

“How long have you been passing information to the Imps?” Ahsoka demanded, staring down at him.

“I haven’t—“

“Don’t try and lie to me!”

The Rodian shot a pleading look at Vader, who remained unmoved. “I just informed the general of where Vader was being held—“

“Did you reveal the origin of the encrypted transmission?” Vader hissed. The Ghost crew stared at him.

“I—“

“Did you?”

“Yes!”

“ _Where_?” Ezra felt his teeth rattle with the force of the question.

“Tatooine!” he shouted, frantically. “It came from Tatooine—there are already ships headed that way—“

“We have to leave,” Vader said. “ _Now_.”

“Not until I’ve asked a few more questions—“ But Ahsoka wouldn’t get to answer her questions. She took her eyes off the Rodian for a split second, and he reached for a vibroblade in his sleeve. Vader, moving almost too fast for Ezra to follow, stomped on the captive’s hand, and he heard bones crack beneath Vader’s heel. The Rodian howled in anguish, but Vader leaned forward, wrapping his cuffed hands around the man’s face, and _twisted_ —

The sound the Rodian’s head made when it left his body was unreal. His body fell to the floor, fountaining blood, and Vader dropped the head, letting it land with a soft thump. It was too much. Ezra turned, but only made it a few steps before he collapsed to his knees and was violently sick against the hanger floor. He felt a hand against his back.

“It’s alright,” Kanan’s voice said, soothing him. “It’s alright. Don’t fight it—just let it out.” Ezra pretended the tears leaking from his eyes were a side effect of his vomiting, and nothing else. He was vaguely aware of Ahsoka shouting at Vader behind them. Ezra wiped a shaking hand across his mouth and stood, legs trembling. Kanan brought Ezra’s head to his chest and they stood there like that, for a too-brief moment. When they parted, Ezra saw Vader watching him, the flat expanse of his mask unreadable.

“We have to make for Tatooine,” Ahsoka said. “We can inform Rebel command of the loss of the base—and the existence of a leak-- en route.”

“What about Vader?” Hera asked, looking a little pale and shaken herself, but stood firm. Ahsoka turned to the Sith Lord.

“If you keep me from my son—“ he started.

“What, you’ll kill me? Trust me, I know.” Ahsoka seemed to consider only for a moment, before making her decision. “He’s coming with us.”

_What_ —

“You want to bring him onto my ship?” Hera asked, outraged and more than a little afraid. “After what he just—“

“Captain Syndulla, I am calling upon your service,” Ahsoka overrode her, her voice severe. “You pledged yourself and your ship to the Alliance, did you not?”

“I took an oath to restore the Republic,” Hera said, fiercely. “Not to give _Darth Vader_ a free ride around the Galaxy!”

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes. “Are you refusing a direct order?”

“If it puts the safety of my crew at risk, then _yes_!” Hera replied, almost shaking with rage. “This isn’t a prisoner transport—“

Ahsoka held up her hand, demeanor softening—but just by a hair. “Vader will not harm your crew.”

“How can you promise me that? He almost _killed_ Kanan and Ezra!” Ezra didn’t think he’d ever heard Hera raise her voice like this before. “Did you just _forget_ how dangerous he is? He’s a monster—“

“This is pointless,” Vader snarled, stepping forward. His hands were still bound together at the wrists, but he hardly seemed like a captive. “Every second you waste _sniveling_ guarantees Tagge’s forces will find my son. Either take me to him or kill me now and be done with it!”

Hera seemed taken aback by the ferocity of Vader’s statement. It wasn’t the kind of rage they’d experienced from him before—they knew all too well what Vader’s murderous intent sounded like. No, if anything he sounded…worried? Ezra glanced at Kanan, who looked similarly taken aback—he sensed it too.

What could possibly worry Darth Vader?

“Captain,” Ahoska tried again. “I swear to you—I will ensure Vader doesn’t harm a single member of your crew. You have my word.”

Hera made a low, frustrated noise in her throat. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I will explain everything once we’re in hyperspace,” Ahsoka promised. “But we have to leave _now_. Vader’s right—the Imps know where Luke and Obi-Wan are. They could even be sending more forces here. We have to blow the base and get moving.”

Hera looked like she wanted to say something else but isntead turned, looking up to meet the empty sockets of Vader’s mask. “Why would you want to beat your own forces to reaching Luke?”

“That is none of your concern,” Vader rumbled, full of menace.

Hera wouldn’t be intimidated. “Why should I let you on my ship?”

“Because my need to find my son is _even greater_ than my desire to see you die,” Vader snarled. There was a frantic, almost manic edge to his voice that made them all uneasy.  

Hera turned to Kanan. “Is he telling the truth?” she asked. Kanan looked like he didn’t believe what was happening, but he nodded once in affirmation. Hera looked back at Vader, warily. She took her blaster from her belt and flicked the safety off, meaningfully.

“Let’s go.”

It was going to be a long four days in hyperspace.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left a review-- each and every one of them is so wonderful! I updated the tags-- this is another one of those "earn the violence warning tag" chapters

Ahsoka watched the base implode from the cockpit of the Ghost, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight. The Alliance was too fragile to lose entire bases like this—all the resources, the work that had gone into carving out this scrap of territory were up in smoke. Another blow like that could clip the wings of their operation before it ever really gained altitude.

But there was no time to brood. The initial question of what do with Vader had been dealt with somewhat inelegantly—the Ghost had no prison cells, no brig, and certainly no area for holding captives. For the time being Vader was chained in the cargo hold, watched over by Sabine and Zeb.

“If you try _anything_ ,” Ahsoka warned him, fiercely, “you’ll never make it off this ship alive.”

“I can wait,” was all Vader had said in response. Hardly comforting, but she sensed he knew how bleak his situation was. For now, she could let him out of her sight.

For now.

In the present, the ship shuddered as it made the jump to hyperspace. Ahsoka watched the stars turn into long tails of white light, streaming past them until they formed an eerie, uniform glow.

“Captain?” Ahsoka asked. Hera started, lost in her own thoughts. “Are you ready to make a report?”

She nodded. “The long range holoterminal is downstairs—Kanan, can you keep an eye on things up here?”

“I’d feel better if I was keeping an eye on Vader,” Kanan answered, looking unamused.

“Next shift he’s all yours,” Ahsoka told him. “He’s fine where he is. Trust me.”

Hera’s eyes flashed, like she dearly wanted to say something in response to that, but she held her tongue. The two of them made their way to the long-range holo in silence, and Ahsoka felt the weight of Hera’s gaze as she punched in the heavily encrypted frequency.

Within moments, Bail Organa appeared on the holotable, looking very, very tired. “Fulcrum,” he said, “I am glad you survived the assault on the base.”

                Something in his tone made Ahsoka’s stomach twist again. “Myself and all five of the Ghost crew. Have all the evacuees reported in? Were there casualties?”

                “Many,” he said, wearily. “About a quarter of the personnel.” Ahsoka covered her face, trying to keep herself from swearing. Those deaths could be laid at her feet—she’d wagered their lives on the chance to capture Vader. Every life lost had been entrusted to her, laid in her grasp—and she’d dropped them. She removed her hand, rubbing her temple.

                “We still have custody of Vader,” she said, finally. “He’s alive. We still have that over the Empire.”

                “That _is_ good news,” Bail said, but didn’t smile. “I can send you the coordinates to the rendezvous. The survivors should be arriving—“

                “I’m afraid we won’t make the rendezvous.”

                Bail frowned. “The six of you can’t possibly contain Vader on your own. You are needed back at command. What reason—“

                “It’s not something we can discuss on this channel. The Imperials gained some sensitive intelligence passed onto us by Master Kenobi. We have to head them off before they can act on it.”

                Bail’s eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply. “Obi-Wan told you about—“ he cut himself off, but the damage was done. Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed.

                “Yes,” she said, intently. “Obi-Wan told us about—the _package_ he’s been guarding since the fall of the Republic.” Bail looked guilty, but didn’t turn away. “You knew,” Ahsoka said, reining in her anger. “You _knew_ about—him. And about Vader? About Anakin?” Bail nodded, once. “You knew this whole time and you never told me—“

                “I never told _anyone_ ,” the senator said, sharply. “I was ready to take that information with me to my death, if I had to, in order to protect the Alliance. What in the _blazes_ gave Obi-Wan the right to tell _you_?”

                Ahsoka was taken aback by Bail’s own indignation— _he_ was the one who’d been lying for fifteen years, not her. “He thinks the intel could be used to sway Vader.”

                Bail took another quick breath, eyes widening in fear. “You told Vader?”

                Ahsoka folded her arms across her chest. “Yes.”

                Even in the flickering blue light of the hologram, Bail looked pale. “What could you possibly have gained from doing that?”

                “His compliance,” Ahsoka shot back, coolly.

                “He’s just biding his time. Vader is _not_ going to join the Alliance—I cannot believe I even need to say that! Vader’s the only one at the top of the Empire who actually _believes_ in it! He’s a zealot and he’ll stop at nothing to wipe us all out—“

                “So we’ve heard from him. At _length_ ,” Ahsoka said, cutting him off. “But Obi-Wan was right. His desire for—the package—is keeping him docile.” Bail eyed her, like he still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

                “I am going to have to convene the High Council,” he said, severely. “This is not an ideal turn of events for us.”

                “We’ll report back in once the package is secure,” Ahsoka replied, like she hadn’t heard the implied threat in his words. And then, because she was already being insubordinate: “Is there anything else you’ve been keeping from me?”

                Something passed over Bail’s face, too fast for her to read, before it was shut away behind his politician’s mask. “You are not privy to that level of information, _Fulcrum_ ,” he said, firmly. “There are things that must be kept close—even from you. You knew that when you came on board. You _said_ you understood.”

                “Would you have sent me to face Vader without telling me who he was?” Ahsoka asked, her voice low but dangerous.

                “That is something we can discuss at a later date. We are both needed elsewhere.” Bail fixed her with a look—he may not be a Force-sensitive, or even a warrior, but he wasn’t about to be intimated. He wouldn’t back down on this particular matter.

                “Very well,” she said, coolly. “Senator.”

                “Commander.”

                The silence in the air following the holo disconnect was frosty, even with Bail gone. Ahsoka turned to where Hera was watching her with a strange look.

                “You didn’t tell him everything, either,” she said, slowly. “You haven’t told _us_ everything.”

                Ahsoka raised an eyebrow.

                “Why did Vader listen to you in the hanger? Why hasn’t he murdered us all and taken my ship?”

                Ah. That _was_ a fair question. Ahsoka unclipped the remote from her belt, holding it up so Hera could see it clearly. “The attack on the base wasn’t a rescue for Vader. One of Vader’s generals went rogue—it was an operation to _re_ capture him from us.”

                Hera’s brow furrowed. “What—are you saying one of Vader’s men turned on him? That the Empire is splitting into factions?”

                “Maybe,” Ahsoka shrugged. “Tagge—the general-- uncovered a huge weakness of Vader’s. He was going to use that and the knowledge of Luke’s existence to control him.”

                “A weakness that could control Vader?” Hera asked, eyeing the remote warily.

                “A kind of manual override for all of Vader’s life support and prosthetics,” Ahsoka explained. Hera’s mouth fell open in horror.

                “And you took it? You—you _used it_?!”

                Ahsoka frowned. “Obviously.”

                Hera went almost white with rage. Her hands curled into fists. “I—I  can’t _believe_ this,” she forced out. “How—“

                “How could I not?” Ahsoka cut her off. “Are you forgetting who Vader is? What he _did_? How many of us he almost _killed_ before we could neutralize him? _This_ ,” she waggled the remote, “ensures that he won’t be able to do that again— _ever_.”  

                But Hera’s rage was unabated. She was almost shaking now. “On Ryloth,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, “the Imperial slavers put tracking chips in all their _wares_. One misstep and a slave’s head could be blown off their shoulders—if they crossed an invisible line, or spoke out, or anything at all- but mostly it’s done just to _scare_ the others—“

                “I’m familiar with the tactic.” Ahsoka cut in. “That’s not what’s happening here.”

                “It might as well be! You used—that—to make Vader _kill_ for you! You made him kill his own troops--”

                “Those men were loyal to Tagge. Vader would have killed them on his own—he’s known throughout the Galaxy for it. And since when have you been squeamish about killing stormtroopers? Did you forget what _else_ the Empire did to Ryloth?”

                “This is _wrong_!” Hera shouted at her, no longer holding back her fury. “It’s wrong! We do this—we fight because we’re _better_ than them, and you just—picked up some of their _slave tech_ like it was _nothing_ —“

                “You need to get a hold of yourself, _Captain_ ,” Ahsoka shot back, icy. “I’m not taking slaves. I’m making sure Darth Vader, the Emperor’s _butcher_ , can no longer sow terror across the Galaxy. _That’s_ what we fight for. Not some vague ideal.”

                Hera shook her head, lekku swaying. “He’s a sentient being. All the conventions—all the accords the Alliance has called for apply to him too, whether we like it or not. If we have to use the Empire’s tools of— _submission_ in order to win, then we haven’t won at all.”

                “If you want to fight the Empire solely with moral high ground then you have consigned yourself to losing,” Ahsoka said, jabbing her finger in Hera’s direction. “I know perfectly well how to lose a war—I watched the Republic take loss after loss for years. No amount of _ideals_ saved them.”

                “Listen to yourself! Do you really think the Jedi would have allowed this—this kind of--?”

                “You know less about the Jedi Order than you think, Captain,” Ahsoka said, as cold and harsh as the winds that blew across the tundra on Hoth. Hera started, looking horrified. Ahsoka pressed on.

 “It’s clear to me that your unfettered idealism is in danger of becoming a liability. If you can’t do what it takes to win this war—and we are at _war_ —then I will recommend you be removed from command of this vessel. This is not a _debate_ , there is no time for musing on personal philosophy. Do I make myself clear?”

Hera raised her chin. She was trembling, but not with fear. “You and Vader deserve each other. You even _sound_ like him, now.”

Ahsoka had never been this close to striking one of the beings under her command—not in her life. She clamped down on her jaw, feeling the muscles tense in her neck. There was a long, tense silence between the two of them.

“Permission to leave, _sir_?” Hera asked, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Permission granted,” Ahsoka ground out. “Go back to the cockpit. Do not engage with Vader.” _Get out of my sight_ , Ahsoka wanted to add, but didn’t. “Captain?”

Hera turned in the doorway, expression still defiant.

“If you have problems with my command,” Ahsoka said, slowly and clearly, “then you are welcome to leave. But as long as you honor your oath to the Alliance, what I say goes. Do you understand?”

“Too well,” Hera snapped, and stormed off.

* * *

 

 Zeb sat in companionable silence with Sabine, filing his claws while she sketched idly. It was almost easy to tune out the steady rasp of Vader’s breathing, after a couple of hours. The sound itself was a little weird, like he was sitting at a medbay bedside rather than with a prisoner, but he felt more uneasy by how _not-weird_ their situation seemed. He was almost used to babysitting the Emperor’s right hand man by now. Vader just— _sat there_ with his cuffed hands in his lap, stiff and straight like there was a metal rod in his spine—

Oh. There probably was, given what he’d heard. Zeb cringed internally. Could Vader hear that thought? He hoped not. That was a thing Jedi could do, he was pretty sure, but—was Vader a Jedi? He had a laser sword and moved things with his mind, so Zeb said yes, but Kanan said no, and Kanan knew about that kind of thing, so—

Zeb glanced down at Sabine’s datasketch, which she had carefully angled away from Vader. He could see why. The flat surface of the datapad repurposed for images instead of text was covered in studies of the dark lord—the shapes that made up his harsh, angular mask, the sweep of his cape, the ribbed suit and control box on his chest. Zeb rolled his eyes. He didn’t know who would give Sabine more trouble for doodling Vader—Ahsoka or the man himself.

He looked back at Vader and frowned. The man in question…wasn’t moving. At all. He was breathing (everyone on the whole ship knew that) but there was an eeriness to his stillness. Zeb stared into the bulbous, unblinking lenses of Vader’s mask.

“Hey,” he ventured. Sabine looked at him, confused, then puzzled when she realized he wasn’t talking to her.

“Hey, uh, Vader?”

No response. This was weird. Zeb looked back at Sabine.

“Do you think he’s…asleep?”

Sabine shrugged. “It’s impossible to tell.”

Vader hadn’t moved. He wasn’t…dead, probably, even though things would be a lot easier if he was. Without thinking, Zeb reached out to jostle the man’s arm—

“If you touch me with that hand and I will take it,” Vader snarled, his voice booming in the quiet of the hangar. Zeb snatched his hand back.

“You could have just said something!” Zeb snapped, without thinking. Vader finally moved, swinging his head around to fix that creepy masked stare on him.

“I am ignoring you. _Pray_ that I continue to do so.”

Zeb felt his ears flatten against his head involuntarily. Sabine made a sharp, rude noise in response.

“Hard to ignore us when we’ve got you captured.”

“I am _meditating_ ,” Vader said. _Kanan and Ezra do that all the time these days_ , Zeb thought

Sabine raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I am contemplating just how long you will suffer before you die.” _Oh_.

Sabine put her pad down in her lap (effectively concealing her doodles) and frowned at Vader. “I think it’s clear that you’re in no position to kill us.”

“Would you wager your life on that certainty?” Vader asked, ominously. Sabine just rolled her eyes.

“It’s going to be a long trip if you insist on acting like a child the entire time.”

“I assure you,” Vader ground out, “it has been too long already.”

Sabine squared her shoulders, that fiery look in her eyes. Zeb leaned over, hissing in her ear: “Stop trying to _reason_ with the dangerous murderer!”

“He’s not dangerous now,” Sabine said, coolly. She dropped her lightpen and rested a hand on the butt of her blaster, meaningfully. A thought occurred to her and she reached into her pockets, rummaging. She came up with a number of odds and ends (and what looked like a handful of smashed charcoal) before triumphantly retrieving a holorelay.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to Vader. Vader stared down at the device for one breath, then two, then took it. He flipped it on, almost idly, and the image of a small blond kid—maybe Ezra’s age—appeared. Just as quickly he slammed the image off, wrapping his enormous hand around the device and brought it in close to his stomach, as if he was afraid Sabine would take it back.

“Where did you get this?” he hissed. Sabine was just as taken aback as Zeb by the intensity of his reaction.

“Ahsoka told me to hold onto it, when the base was attacked,” Sabine shrugged. “She said to destroy it, but I didn’t have a chance too before we were swamped with stormtroopers ourselves. The transcript says it’s for you.”

Vader considered this for a moment, fingers closing reflectively around the little device. “You are wise to curry my favor, Mandalorian whelp,” he said, after a long pause, “but your fate is already sealed.”

“No need to thank me, it’s my pleasure,” Sabine replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Zeb muttered.

* * *

 

It was weird, having this many Force-sensitives in one place at the same time. Back on the base with Kanan and Ahsoka, they’d been spread far enough apart that he couldn’t tell any real difference. Here, confined to the much smaller area the Ghost, the effect was immediate. The Force seemed…more, somehow. That was the only way he knew how to describe it. More present, more vibrant, more… _alive_.

Kanan was the same—a steady, stalwart presence that was never far from his thoughts, an effect of their bond as master and padawan—at least, Ezra was pretty sure that was it. Ahsoka had a kind of clarity to her presence, Ezra always sensed she was moving towards one clear objective, not stopping to look left or right. She was quietly luminescent, unlike Vader—

 Vader was like a dark and fetid pool, the motionless water occasionally stirred by the hint something terrible lurking in the deep. Ezra tried to sense Vader as little as he possibly could.

It was Ahsoka that Ezra was looking for, anyways. He found her in the room he shared with Zeb, sitting on his bunk with her head resting against her hand, fingers splayed across her eyes. She looked up at him when he appeared in the door.

“I’m sorry. This is your room, isn’t it?” she asked, moving to stand. “I’ll just—“

“No! No, it’s alright,” Ezra rubbed the back of his head with his hand, uneasily. “I actually, um, wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Ahsoka tilted her head. “What’s on your mind, young padawan?”

Ezra shifted back and forth, hesitant—and if he was being honest with himself, more than a little embarrassed. “Me ‘n Kanan are supposed to have the next shift watching Vader.”

“Yes.”

“I was wondering…” he took a deep breath, trying to force the words out all at once, “I was wondering if you could cover for me.”

“Cover for you?” Ahsoka asked. She wasn’t mad, but her voice was colored with amusement, which was somehow worse. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

Of course he didn’t.  None of them were going anywhere with the ship in hyperspace. Ezra felt his face burn with embarrassment. “I—no. I mean…I’ll just get going.”

“Wait,” Ahsoka stood, crossing the distance between them. “I’m sorry. I was only teasing. I didn’t mean to belittle you.” She stood in front of him, smiling in the same sad way Obi-Wan had. “Tell me what troubles you.”

“It’s Vader,” Ezra blurted out. He might as well get it over with. “He…” he couldn’t finish.

“You don’t want to see him,” Ahsoka said, slowly. “Are you...afraid of him?”

Ezra nodded, feeling worse than ever. He wasn’t a _baby_. He’d run headlong into scarier situations than this. But the feeling of the hand on his neck, squeezing inexorably until it choked the life out of him came back again and again—it even found him when he was dreaming.

“Ezra,” Ahsoka said, her voice gentle and warm. She laid a hand against his shoulder. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. It’s only natural that you would be afraid of him—especially after he attacked you. Those who don’t fear Vader end up dead at his hand. You learned your lesson there, didn’t you?”

Too well. He didn’t answer right away. Only when the silence was deafening did he offer up: “When—in the hangar…what he did to the mole…”

“That’s not something you should have had to see,” Ahsoka said, gravely. “I should have known…” she sighed, looking away from him for a moment. Ezra didn’t envy her for whatever she saw there.

“Like I said, there’s nothing _wrong_ with your reaction, or your feelings,” she continued, looking back to him. “But Kanan has taught you about the Dark Side, right?”

He nodded. “He said…fear is like anger, and other negative emotions. They—they lead to the Dark Side. They make Jedi fall.”

Ahsoka nodded, lekku bobbing. “He’s right. Being a Jedi doesn’t mean you’ll never be afraid again—but you _will_ have to train yourself to let those feelings go, and trust the Force fully, whatever happens. Do you understand?”

Ezra remembered the fynocks. “Yeah, I think so.”

Ahsoka smiled at him again. “Good. I’ll go with you to start your shift—between me and Kanan, Vader won’t be able to hurt you again, alright?” she squeezed his shoulder. “I promise you.”

Ezra couldn’t say he really _wanted_ to go, but Ahsoka’s compromise was better than nothing. He remembered the way she’d charged into the cave in a hail of blaster fire, twin blades flashing while Vader fell. It was a comforting memory.

“OK,” he agreed, and she removed her hand and started for the door.

“But—I have a question,” she turned back to him waiting. “If—if fear leads to the Dark Side, is that what happened to Vader? Why he…fell?” Ahsoka looked startled by his question, then deeply sad in a way that made him wish he hadn’t asked at all.

“I’m sorry, Ezra,” she answered, finally. “I just…don’t have an answer for that question.”

The walk to get Kanan passed in an understanding silence. Turning their conversation over in his mind, Ezra thought it was a stupid question to have asked in the first place. After all, what did someone like _Darth Vader_ have to be afraid of?

* * *

 

Kanan didn’t seem surprised by Ahsoka’s presence, but he did shoot Ezra questioning look.

“Ready to upgrade masters already?” he asked, in a light tone. Ezra felt there was something beneath his words that _wasn’t_ a joke. 

“Nothing of the sort,” Ahsoka stepped in, firmly. “We just had a little talk— you didn’t go to Master Billaba with _every_ question you had, right?”

Kanan considered this, and his face broke in a small but genuine grin. “No,” he said, “I guess there were some things I wanted an outside opinion on.” He gave Ezra a wink.

 _Wait a minute, what exactly do you think I was_ — _?_

But Kanan’s demeanor turned serious before he could object. He leaned in close to Ahsoka, his voice low—not so much that Ezra couldn’t hear them, but it did give the impression that neither of them were requesting his input.

“Hera updated me about the Vader situation” he said. Ahsoka’s mood turned stormy.

“And?”

“Look, I agree with you,” Kanan said, defensively, “this can only be good for us. Anyone else—well, anyone else, it would be different. But this couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

Ahsoka relaxed, but still looked at Kanan warily. “But?”

He hesitated, but pressed on. “But she has a point. There are no Jedi teachings for this kind of thing. This…” he gestured vaguely, uncomfortable.

Ahsoka arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you held Jedi doctrine in such high regard.” Kanan glowered.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should take it slow,” he pressed.  “This is outside our scope of—accepted practice, let’s say. There have been missteps before,” he paused again, before blurting out, “The clones, for example. _That_ didn’t work out so well, in the long run.”

The older Jedi looked like she wanted to snap at him, like the comparison between Vader and the clones rattled something loose inside of her, but she stopped herself, exhaling slowly. “Perhaps you are right,” she acquiesced. “It’s not something we should be using lightly. I am willing to meet with you and Hera to lay out some…ground rules, if that would help.”

Kanan relaxed, almost imperceptibly. “I think it would be best,” he glanced at Ezra. “The whole crew should be onboard—or at least know what’s happening.”

Ahsoka nodded. “I am growing tired of all this secrecy myself. However, its past time we went to relieve Sabine and Zeb.”

Kanan shook his head. “Between the three of them, I’m surprised the Ghost is still in one piece.”

But, weirdly enough, the scene in the hanger was…almost idyllic. Sabine sat cross-legged on a crate, sketching away, while Zeb drummed his heels against the side of his own seat. Vader was no longer on the crate where Ahsoka had initially commanded him to stay—instead, he sat on the ground in one of the recessed closets Ezra had hidden in when he first stowed aboard the Ghost. The inlet was illuminated by the eerie blue of the still holo in his hands.

“Where did he get that?” Ahsoka demanded, the sharpness in her voice shattering the stillness before them. Zeb’s head shot up, ears back, but Sabine looked nonplussed.

“I gave it to him,” she said. “He was bothering us.” Ahsoka folded her arms across her chest, displeased, but Sabine just wrinkled her nose in response. “He can’t do any harm with it—I mean, it’s not like can make a bomb with the parts. Trust me-- I would know.”

Zeb held out a hand to say _she absolutely would know_ , but Ahsoka was unmoved.

“You think it’s a good idea to just hand over intel to our most dangerous enemy, even if he’s a prisoner?” She asked, harshly. Sabine threw up his hands.

“It was _addressed_ to him! He’s Anakin Skywalker, right?”

“ _No_ ,” the way Vader and Ahsoka answered at the same time, with the same conviction, was…unsettling. Ahsoka shot a look at the Sith, but he turned away pointedly. Sabine looked exasperated, and Zeb just looked confused. Ahsoka rubbed her temple, reaching for calm.

“Use your common sense next time. Don’t _give_ things to the Empire’s most notorious butcher, ever. _Especially_ not when I told you to safeguard them.” Sabine looked like she wanted to protest further, but Ahsoka waved her off. “You and Zeb are dismissed.”

They took their leave, ready to be free from Vader’s less-that-pleasant company. Ezra heaved himself up onto Sabine’s crate, trying to act more casual than he felt. _Vader isn’t going to do anything,_ he tried to assure himself. Distantly, he thought he heard the cracking sound the rodian’s neck made when it was broken in two, and his stomach turned.

“Your feted _Alliance_ has nothing but untested children to fill its ranks,” Vader rumbled, his metallic baritone echoing hollowly off the bare metal walls of the hangar. “This boy has never seen _war_ before. He has no shields to speak of, and even now he is _consumed_ with fear—“

“That’s enough,” Ahsoka cut him off. Ezra’s cheeks burned with indignation. “You can come out of your hole if you want to play mind games, Vader.”

Vader obliged, hauling himself to his feet—Ezra was momentarily distracted from his anxiety and embarrassment by how much of an effort this seemed to cost the Sith. Vader had moved with relative ease when he mowed down the storm troopers—an image he quickly banished from his mind—but here he was slower, almost lurching back to standing. He had to duck and angle his shoulders in order to exit the closet—both too tall and too wide for the opening. He drew himself up, like he was about to continue berating Ezra, but stopped short at what he saw in Ahsoka’s face.

“What?” he demanded, almost in spite of himself.

Ahsoka looked Vader up and down, eyes narrowing. “You…” she stopped, reconsidering her words. “Anakin could have fit in there.”

Vader drew back, his vocoder garbling his snort of irritation. “I am built from Anakin Skywalker, but I am not him,” he said, with a kind of dark humor. Ezra shared a look with Kanan—Vader had said that in the interrogation room, too. The idea that the statement was literal as well as figurative… Ezra’s stomach turned again.

Ahsoka looked similarly disgusted. “I had no idea you like droids so much you wanted to be one,” she bit out, her voice low and cruel. “You’re a real clanker now—just like Greivous…” Vader lunged forward, but stopped short—Ahsoka’s hand was hovering at her belt, just over a small remote.

“Is that what Kenobi told you?” Vader rumbled. There was something beneath his voice—not the burning, out of control rage that usually battered Ezra’s shields. It was _hate_ — cold but searing. Ezra wondered how Vader lived with that inside him—it felt like battery acid, as if his hatred could burn through his flesh and dribble down on to the hanger floor. “Did he tell you _that_ is what took place on Mustafar?”

Kanan looked distinctly alarmed at the mention of Mustafar. “What—“

“He _lied_!” Vader roared, as if Kanan hadn’t spoken at all. “Kenobi is a _liar_! He lives in _cowardice_ , unable to speak the truth of what—“

“I see the truth right in front of me!” Ahsoka shouted back. “Do you think you’re some kind of— _martyr_ for the Empire?” she trembled with rage, staring up at Vader with blazing blue eyes. “Is this what makes you so powerful? Frightening children? _Killing_ them?”  Vader started—in a tiny, imperceptible way that Ezra would have called a _flinch_ in anyone else. But that wasn’t possible, not for Darth Vader, and so he disregarded it before turning his attention back to Ahsoka and her righteous fury.

“You know what?” she went on, her anger cooling to something more calculated. “ _Here_.” She ripped the remote from her belt, and both Vader and Kanan started forward. Ahsoka held it up for a moment ,before grabbing Ezra’s hand and pressing it in his open palm.

“There,” she said, wrapping his fingers around the cold plasteel of the device. “This is yours now. His _life_ —“ She jerked her head towards Vader, “ is yours now. If he tries to hurt you again—“Ahsoka nodded down at the device, “he dies.”

Ezra almost dropped the remote. He didn’t even know what to _think,_ much less _say_. This was—too much. “I—I don’t think I—“

Ahsoka clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t be afraid anymore,” she said, in a gentler tone. She stood, giving Vader one last, defiant glare, before setting off.

 The silence she left in her wake was deafening, cut only by the steady rasp of Vader’s breathing. He stared after her, his mask fixed on the door she’d disappeared through. Then he turned, fixing that gaze on Ezra—

Ezra blanched under the onslaught of Vader’s almost mindless hatred. It was like standing under the deep-space searchlight of a Star Destroyer. He felt the urge to shield his face against the burning loathing that slammed against his mental shields. He felt the invisible hand squeezing around his throat—but it wasn’t _there_ this time, Vader couldn’t use the Force, wouldn’t dare, and yet he longed to throttle Ezra—he could see himself in Vader’s imagination, eyes bulging, choking and dying—

“I don’t want to use this!” he blurted out, panicking. It was true—whatever would happen when he pressed the button, he didn’t want any part of it. He just wanted Vader to go away.

Amazingly, the dark lord withdrew. He tilted his head, as if considering. Ezra cleared his throat, trying to will away the touch of the imaginary hands on his throat, and repeated in a stronger tone: “I don’t want to use this, but I will if I have to.”

Ezra felt a warm touch on his padawan bond—he spared a glance at Kanan, who was looking at him with something like pride. Vader, unmoved by their unspoken connection, continued to stare—and then, without a word, turn on his heel and wedged himself back into his hidey-hole. Ezra got the sense that if he could have gotten away with slamming the door behind him, he would have.

Ezra looked from the Sith Lord (who looked for all the world like he was _sulking_ ) back to Kanan. He clipped the remote to his jacket, right where he could reach it.

They still had eight hours of their shift ahead of them.

“Did you bring a pack of cards?” Ezra asked, hopefully. Kanan fixed him with a disbelieving look.

“You’re long overdue for some meditation.”

Ezra groaned.

* * *

 

Ahsoka paced through the hallways of the Ghost, unable to settle herself enough to meditate. She could find no solace in the Force—the usually placid river was now a mess of swirling eddies, all with a dark undertow. _Vader_.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to will away the encounter she’d just had with her former master. She’d acted rashly—but that was just it, wasn’t it? She’d been acting rashly ever since they’d captured Vader—no, ever since she learned who he really was. Who he had _been_.

 _I let him get to me. I put our best chance at surviving—no, our best chance at_ winning _this thing in the hands of a padawan_ , she thought. _Stupid!_

It was more than Vader’s mere presence. If she was going to be honest with herself, she would have to admit that her fight with Hera had rattled her. She remembered the mission to Zygerria—the way Anakins’ jaw seemed permanently clenched for weeks afterwards, how his shoulders were rigid and tense for months after they left. But that was _Anakin_ —Vader was different. He took slaves of his own now.

 _I had to make the call_ , she thought, grimly. _The last time I hesitated—because my_ feelings _got in the way—we lost a quarter of the base._ Her enemy had no use for ethics or Galactic sentient’s rights conventions. How could they play by the rules against an opponent who controlled the entire board? 

 _I wish Anakin was here_. And that was the root of the problem, wasn’t it? She was just as bad as Obi-Wan, looking for her master in the black hole that had swallowed him. It felt like a particularly cruel joke—for years she’d wished for her Master’s guidance, and even more deeply for the warmth of his company. Now he was here- but he wasn’t.

 Ahsoka would never have dreamed she would wish for Anakin’s death, but that was before she was confronted with the thing that wasn’t him—Vader, who’d wrecked Anakin’s face before he could wear it. The thought made her furious—it stirred something in her, something that made her want to march back to the hangar and rip the remote from Ezra’s hands, to do what Obi-Wan had told her and end it, put Vader down like the dog he was—No. She pulled back from those thoughts, taking slow breaths. Peace. Knowledge. Serenity. Harmony. She would only risk their chance at taking down the whole Empire if she killed Vader out of rage—more dangerous, she risked becoming something as twisted and unrecognizable as he was.

 For all that the Jedi had wronged her, had been so wrong about so many things, they were right about this:

She had to let go.

Anakin was gone. Obi-Wan was almost as bad—he’d lost something when he lost Anakin, Ahsoka could see it; he was like a ship lost in unchartered space, rudderless, directionless. It was like he’d lost his compass and anchor both in one fell swoop when Anakin fell. His judgement was more than clouded, it was totally compromised. There was no help coming—not from her masters. She hadn’t felt this alone since she’d left the Order, or in those dark, frantic days following the fall of the Jedi. The emptiness within her made her heart ache.

 But there was no time to indulge in her grief-- she was the only one left who could pick up the pieces. She wanted to resent Anakin, Obi-Wan, all the Jedi, to rage against them for the unfair weight that had fallen on her shoulders, but she couldn’t.

It wasn’t the Jedi way.

* * *

 

_The light was warm on his face; the touch of Naboo’s single sun was a gentle one. Whenever there was a risk of becoming too warm, a gentle breeze would place across his skin, teasing a lock of hair and sending it into his eyes. He casually brushed it away, hearing the faint whisper of flesh sliding against flesh. There was no pain involved in the motion._

_None of it hurt._

_“Of course it doesn’t,” Obi-Wan said, over him. He shifted, slightly, so that Anakin’s head could rest against his calf more comfortably. He ran his own fingers through Anakin’s hair. “That’s over now, Anakin. Now that the Galaxy is in balance and order is restored, all of that is finished.”_

_“Balance…” he murmured to himself. He had a fuzzy idea of what Obi-Wan was talking about, a flash of images, but they didn’t make much sense to him._

_“Yes. You were_ right _, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, almost awed. “We didn’t believe you, but you were right. The greed, the selfishness that tore the worlds apart is gone now, and it’s beautiful. The suffering they brought with them is gone, too. There is no pain here.” His eyelids fluttered, blissfully. Obi-Wan leaned in close, his words almost a whisper:_

_“I’m so proud of you.”_

_No--that was_ wrong _. Something was wrong here. He pushed himself up, shaking his head. Hadn’t there been a ship? He remembered it, the sound of angry voices, the sharp whine of blaster bolts and the hum of a lightsaber—his legs failing, his body betraying him—he was betrayed—he was_ trapped _—_

 _The warmth disappeared, and the world turned to endless darkness. For a second all his saw was the great black expanse of the Jedi’s mirror, its edges unbound by the walls of the Temple, stretching on infinitely, filling his mind’s eye. His face—no,_ Anakin Skywalker’s _face was reflected back at him, pale and sad, before it was swallowed by his mask which was in turn swallowed by darkness—_

                Vader came back to himself with a start. He had sunk too deep into his meditations in an attempt to escape the inane chattering of his _keepers_. They were gone now—ignoring him, granting him privacy, it didn’t matter. He was alone, with the mirror lingering somewhere in the back of his mind.

                He imagined, in the stale air of his helmet, the feeling of the breezes against his skin, the warmth of the sun, a voice that said _you were right Anakin_ and he was overcome with that same primal urge to tear this ship apart, rend it into scrap metal and _escape_ , get out of here go back to wastes and the Temple and the Mirror _I want to go back_ —

                _No!_ He forced down those thoughts, pressing them to the edges of his mind where they would dissipate—but it was no use. He couldn’t forget the way light— _real light_ —looked when it was unfiltered by red lenses, or the thrill of another _living_ body so close to his. Just outside his perception, the Dark Side writhed and snapped, demanding attention from its master. It promised him it would drown those traitorous ideas, if only he would reach out and grasp it but he _couldn’t_ —the treachery of his former padawan and her force-dampening cuffs was at work. He could call for no aid in the struggle against his own thoughts—no, against _Anakin Skywalker’s_ thoughts, the weakness inherent in them…

                _There is no pain here_.

                Vader snarled. Typical of Kenobi—typical of Skywalker. _Weakness_. Did the Jedi think they could tempt him that way? There was none of Skywalker’s frailty left in him. It had been expunged, exorcised, burned out of him in the flames that enveloped him. Pain was _strength_ to the Sith.

                Pain would give him strength enough to end them all.

                He was not as limited by the shock cuffs as Tano and her crew seemed to think. Vader easily had enough slack to take his right thumb and drive it, hard, into the seam where his left arm met his prosthetic. The sensitive area, already weakened by the arcing electricity of the shock cuffs, burned like a fiery brand before giving way beneath the sharp durasteel point of his artificial thumb. Vader clamped his jaw shut, refusing to let out so much as a grunt, before twisting his hand with a sharp _jerk_ —

                The skin broke, and he felt a trickle of warmth spill down his left prosthetic. He let the respirator exhale for him, the breath containing a mixture of agony and relief. The pain took the place of any unworthy thoughts, and it was easy to center himself in the steady of pulse of the wound. Blood welled from the tear between flesh and durasteel, he tensed—and then relaxed. The wave of dopamine that followed this exercise caused his muscles to loosen, his heart to settle back into rhythm with the breaths so carefully measured for him. He was able to pull himself back from the cavernous madness Anakin Skywalker’s thoughts created within him. He had teetered on the edge and won again.

                _Kenobi thought he could break me_ , Vader thought, clenching his fist, the tension in his muscles causing the skin to tear anew. _He thought I would burn away to ash, that he could erase me and make me_ nothing _. He could_ never _. I am stronger than I ever was_.

                Tagge—the Rebels—his former padawan—they wanted to _use_ him. Ahso— _Tano_ , the rebel commadner, had placed the means of his destruction in the hands of a child. To mock him. To _humiliate_ him. He was trapped—

                No, he was not trapped. This was only temporary—as all things were. He had suffered a passing defeat, but ultimately he had triumphed— and just as he has triumphed in surviving the flames, he would survive this as well. Kenobi, Tano—all her little padawans—they would feel _real_ fear before they died, just as all the other Jedi had. They would gaze on him and know how utterly they were defeated, how fate had decreed their deaths and how their total destruction was inevitable at his hands, the would feel the weight of judgement before their bodies were heaped on the scales of balance—

                He would smash the mirror, and his son would know that he was strong.

* * *

 

The night cycle was well underway, but Ezra couldn’t sleep. The events of the past few days kept rattling around in his head, demanding his attention, filling him with a kind of restless energy. It didn’t help that half the ship was awake too—even at a distance Ezra could still sense Vader, seething with barely-contained fury, just like he’d been since he got onboard. Ezra wasn’t sure the dark lord had slept once this whole time—and he was almost _impressed_ by that level of commitment to being a Sith. But no matter how impressed he was, he wasn’t about to go look to Vader for company—the hours he’d spent trying to meditate, with Vader’s roiling hatred lapping at the edges of his perception, were enough to last him a lifetime.

Luckily for him, Kanan was also up. Ezra headed for the kitchen, poking his head through the door. His master was nursing a steaming mug—not a good sign. The fragrant leaves Kanan preferred for his tea were pricey, so the mug didn’t usually come out unless Kanan was in desperate need of calm-- or whatever it was he got from the ritual.

There had been an above average level of tea consumption following his rescue from Mustafar.

“What’re you up to, padawan?” Kanan asked, leaning against the counter.

Ezra shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I had…a lot to think about.”

“Well, sit down and tell me about it.” Kanan shifted, setting his own drink down. “Let me make you a mug.”

“No, really, I wouldn’t want to—“

“It’s fine,” Kanan said, waving his hand but not turning from the cabinet. “Now that Ahsoka’s onboard she said she’d foot the bill for more tilspa leaves. She hasn’t had anyone to drink it with since--” Kanan broke off uncomfortably, busying himself with bring the water to a boil. Ezra bit his lip, but didn’t answer.

“My master showed me how to brew the tilspa,” Kanan went on, quietly. “And now…I have the privilege of showing you.” He placed a mug before Ezra, then poured a palmful of the dried leaves into a dented metal strainer. He poured the water over it in one long, slow movement, so the steady stream of water fell through the air before splashing into the bottom of the cup. Steam rose lazily from the mug, a soft white dissipating under the harsh florescent lights of the kitchen.

Ezra usually agreed with Zeb—Kanan’s hot leaf water wasn’t something that appealed to him, necessarily. In any other circumstance he would have firmly declined the beverage, maybe poked fun at Kanan’s secret Core World tastes…but this wasn’t the time for playing around. It wasn’t like there was any harm in just trying it out. He pulled his mug closer, watching the steam curl lazily into the still air. He remembered the Jedi Temple on Coruscant as Kanan had remembered it, rooted into the city like an ancient tree: unfathomably old, eternal.

Now gone.

“Master Billaba,” Ezra said, quietly, trying the name out. Testing the waters. “That was her name, right?”

Kanan looked over his beverage at Ezra, warily. “Yes.”

Sore subject, Ezra knew. But he _really_ needed some answers. “You cared for her. You—I mean, you miss her, right?”Kanan didn’t answer. Ezra pressed on. “Does that mean…you were attached to her?”

Kanan grimaced. “Ezra…”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Ezra said quickly, looking down. “But I—“

“No,” Kanan sighed. “You’re right. You are…absolutely right.” He set his mug against the table, leaning back in his chair. “Every master and padawan pair is close—every successful one anyways. We had a bond—a close one. A little like ours.”

“So you do like me after all?” Ezra asked, trying to lighten the mood. Kanan rolled his eyes.

“I would have let you fall off the top of the ship a long time ago if I didn’t,” he shot back. He grew serious again, though, a veil falling across his face. “Attachment is…” he struggled, unable to find the words.

“Look, we can _use_ the Force, but we can’t— _shape_ it, alright? Things are going to happen—maybe to you, maybe to me…things we’d rather avoid. But there are some things we can influence or change, and some things we just can’t. Those are the things…we have to let go.”

Ezra took a cautious sip, turning the words over in his mind. Too hot to tell if he liked it or not. “I miss my parents,” he said, slowly. “And I saw them in the mirror. Does that mean I haven’t let go?”

Kanan shook his head. “You escaped the mirror. You moved on. You _lived_. It’s not _them_ that you need to let go of—more like…the pain their deaths caused you.” Kanan fixed him with a stern look. “If you had the people who hurt them in front of you right now, what would you do?”

Ezra’s hands tightened around his mug. “I—this feels like a trick question.”

Kanan shook his head. “It’s not. You know there’s only one _right_ answer. And it’s not what you’re thinking right now.”

“I want to stop them from taking other people’s families!” Ezra shot back, sharper than he meant to. “I don’t know why that’s so wrong—“

“Because that’s not all you would do,” Kanan said, knowingly. Ezra drew himself up, ready to fight back—then deflated.

“No. No it’s not.”

Kanan reached across the table. He took one of Ezra’s hands and squeezed it, gently. “I know. I’m not—I don’t blame you. But those feelings are _dangerous_. If you’re going to be a Jedi, you just can’t afford to indulge them.”

“I could end up like Vader,” Ezra said, quietly. The two of them could feel the caustic hatred of the Sith’s presence, even separated by thick durasteel walls. Kanan’s mouth twisted.

“I have more faith in you than that,” he said, with dark humor. He looked at Ezra in the eyes, contemplative. “Is that what’s bothering you?” he asked, in a softer tone. “Are you afraid of becoming like him?”

Ezra hesitated. “I’m definitely just afraid of him in general,” he blurted out. “I mean—he almost killed us when he didn’t even know or care who we were. Now…” his hand went up to the remote, still on his person. “I’ve never been _hated_ like that before. I’m not even sure I hate the Imps who got my parents that much.”

 “He won’t hurt you again,” Kanan said, quickly. “You can stop him now, Ezra. You have the power to stop him—and you have the judgement to know when it needs to be used,” a warm note of pride entered his voice. “ _That’s_ what makes you different from him.”

Ezra smiled. He took another sip of his tea—maybe he could get to like it, after all. “Thanks, Kanan. I mean, uh, Master.” Kanan rolled his eyes, but his smile remained.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Ezra hated to press, but he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted, quietly.

Kanan tilted his head. “Oh?”

“About Vader.” Kanan didn’t answer, and Ezra struggled to articulate what he was feeling. “You said…Anakin Skywalker was the best Jedi anyone had ever seen. But no one seems to know what _happened_ to him. Not even Ahsoka—I asked, but I think it just made her sad.”

 Kanan leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. “None of us really like to think about the end of the war,” he said, quietly. “Or…any part of it, really. Remembering…” he took his cup from the table and stared deep into it, as if the memories were playing out in the last dredges of his drink. “I think it may be different for Ahsoka. She knew him—or at least, she knew him more than I did. But for me…” Kanan looked back up, meeting Ezra’s gaze.

“You have to understand—Skywalker and Kenobi were less like Jedi and more like legends. There was nothing they couldn’t do. They got only the most hopeless of missions, and they _won_ —every single time. I was off world when we got the news that Skywalker killed a Sith Lord and safely crash-landed the Separatist flagship without killing a single civilian—even after it broke in half on the way down.”

“But that’s—“

“I know. Trust me, _I know_. But it’s true—I remember watching the newsreels and feeling…” Kanan shook his head. “Feeling _exhilarated_. Skywalker was going to win the war for us. We were going to go home—all of us. No more dead Jedi, no more deaths tearing the Force apart. We trusted him to destroy the ones who killed our siblings…and then—“ A shadow fell over Kanan’s eyes. “Then he started to kill _us_ , instead. You don’t know—you can’t understand, what it was like, feeling them all die. How the Galaxy is so much darker now than it used to be. I’m grateful for that much, at least,” he finished, with dark humor. “I hope there’s a day when no one remembers feeling that firsthand.”

They both sat quietly for a moment. Kanan took a long drink from his mug. Ezra hesitated to press on—he knew these questions were hard for Kanan. This one especially. “Hera said—you told her Mustafar is where Jedi go to die.”

A muscle tensed in Kanan’s jaw, but he nodded.

“And Vader—said something happened to him on Mustafar,” Ezra went on, slowly. “Is that--?”

Kanan tilted his head, considering. “Something did happen there,” he said, finally, “you could sense it, couldn’t you? Something happened that actually tore the Force there—made it a conduit for the Dark Side.”

“Can Vader do that? Make a whole planet go Dark Side?”

Kanan shrugged. “I’m sorry Ezra. This is a little out of my scope of knowledge. If I know Vader—then yes, it is possible.” He took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling slowly—fighting for composure. “The Sith—stop at _nothing_ in pursuit of power. No amount of suffering, no cost in life is ever too great for them, if it means they reach their goal.”

“And that goal is—always power?” Ezra asked, slowly. Kanan nodded.

“In its simplest form. All selfish desires really boil down to it.”

Ezra traced the rim of his cup with his finger, slowly. “But Vader’s already powerful,” he said, quietly. “More powerful than any of us.” Kanan looked at him quizzically, but said nothing.

“But in the mirror…he didn’t dream about ruling the Empire,” Ezra went on, without looking up, “or killing more Jedi. Just--”

 Just a quiet place and a few people he cared for—something he wanted so bad he was ready to never live in the real world again. Ezra didn’t have to clarify aloud. “Is that…wrong?” he asked. “I mean, is that what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Kanan answered, finally. There was a hard edge to his voice. “You remember he’s the reason there are no more Jedi masters to guide you, right? The reason your parents are—“

“I don’t want you to say anything,” Ezra reassured him, quickly. “I don’t—I agree, he needs to stay right where he is.” He hesitated. “But you and Ahsoka—want Vader to die. You want to kill him for what he did.”

Kanan gave a wry, humorless smile. “You’ve got me there. After all my speech on letting it go—I guess I’m not much of a Jedi after all.”

Ezra set his mug down. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to understand what’s going on. I mean—the Jedi--” Ezra ran a hand through his hair. “This is all just—such a mess.”

“You got that right, at least.” Kanan sighed, heavily, resting his elbows against the table and his head in his hands. “It’s good that you’ve got so many questions—hard questions, at that. It means you’re really learning. But I—I don’t have any answers.” Kanan looked up at Ezra, with an almost fragile expression. “You’ll surpass me soon enough.”

“Not if I fall off the roof of the Ghost and break my face,” Ezra joked, trying for levity. Kanan smiled, but neither of them really felt any humor.

“The path before you is a winding one,” Kanan said, with a solemn expression. “I just wish—I had more to offer you in the way of directions.”

Ezra shrugged. “I’d pick you over a navicomp any day.” His master made a noise of half amusement, half exasperation.

Ezra took advantage of the silence to drain the rest of the tea from his mug. “Thank you,” he said, “for the drink—and for the talk. I think…I’m going to take a walk now. Think some things over.”

Kanan fixed his padawan with a piercing look, like he suspected where exactly the teen was thinking of going, but nodded.  “Alright. If you need anything else—“

Ezra waved his hand, dismissively. “Go to bed, Master. Big day of babysitting tomorrow.”

* * *

 

This was a stupid idea—it was a stupid idea, he _knew_ it, and he was doing it anyways. Ezra crept through the halls of the Ghost, coming to the main deck overlooking the cargo bay. He leaned over the railing—there was Vader, back in his closet, illuminated by the blue light of a holo. He didn’t seem to notice Ezra—both his physical and metaphysical senses were tuned on what he was watching. Ezra made his way down the ladder, slowly, gingerly—like there was a wild animal in the cargo bay, rather than a prisoner.

As he crept closer to Vader, he could hear the holo playing—Vader wasn’t just staring into the still image, like he had been before. Luke rambled on, blithely; it was hard for Ezra to believe that kid was his age, the way he talked. It was harder to still to believe just how absorbed Vader was in the holo—he held it close to his chest, nestled in his cupped hands, staring down at it like it was the most important thing in the Galaxy.

“I love you, dad!” the holo image of Luke burst out. Vader stopped the relay, then flicked a button with his thumb. He resumed play: “I love you, dad!” Stop, rewind. “I love you!” He did it again, again—Ezra squeezed his eyes shut, overcome with a feeling he couldn’t place.

Something of that indescribable emotion must have leaked out from behind his shield, because Vader jerked to awareness, turning off the holo and hiding it from view. “You!” he barked, shoulders visibly tensing. He drew back, unconsciously, in a way that made Ezra even more unsettled. “What do you want?”

Ezra felt that same fear creep up on him—the same hands on his neck—but he pushed the fear aside, mentally pushing the hands away. This time he wasn’t powerless. “I have questions,” he said, with a bravado he didn’t quite feel. This was still a huge risk, and he knew it—but Vader hadn’t tried anything yet.

Instead he just stared up, the empty lenses of his mask reflecting the harsh lights of the cargo bay. Ezra had a million things he wanted to know—what happened? Why would you do it? Why would you go on? Would you really go back in the mirror?

Instead, he blurted out: “Do you actually care about him?”

Instinctively, Vader’s hands closed around the holo, totally encasing it. He drew away, pulling it back behind him, as if Ezra wouldn’t know it was there. But he didn’t answer.

“Your son,” Ezra said, pointing in the direction of the holo. “What do you _want_ with him? To make him a Sith? Something like _you_?”

 _That_ got a reaction. Vader hauled himself to his feet, both hands gripping the sides of the door. Somehow, he was up and out in a blink, towering over Ezra. “What about my son concerns _you_?” Vader rumbled, dangerously. Ezra instinctively took a step back.

His mental shields, already battered from an entire day of keeping Vader’s all-consuming hatred at bay, collapsed beneath a sudden wave from the Force. He was totally disoriented, just like the first time he experienced a vision—for one jarring moment he saw his _himself_ , as if from a taller vantage point, pale and scared looking. Then he saw Luke—Luke as Vader had imagined him, but instead of laughing he was crying, trembling—then the images collapsed into a nightmarish swirl of light and color, he dimly perceived a third face, a child asking _master skywalker there are too many of them what are we going to do--?_

Ezra pulled himself back from the torrent of sounds and images—just as Vader did the same. They eyed each other, warily, Ezra breathing heavily and Vader with his fists clenched _. Did he see what I just--?_

“Leave him out of this,” Vader finally bit out. “Whatever you plan to do with me— _do_ it. Leave my son alone—he hasn’t…” Vader trailed off, then shook his head, as if coming back to himself. Remembering who he _was_.

“Touch him and I will end you,” he rumbled, in a way much more familiar to Ezra. “You may kill me, but before you do I will make you _pay_ for anything that happens to him.”

“I’m not the one Luke is in danger from,” Ezra shot back, harshly. Vader drew himself to his full height, his fury making the force snap and rage around them. “You were a hero, right? They _believed_ in you. What are you now?”

“I am the Empire’s _justice_ ,” Vader seethed—and he _believed_ that. He honestly did. Ezra shook his head.

“No,” he said, slowly, “you’re _pathetic_.” Vader stiffened—too surprised to lash out, or even speak up in his own behalf. Ezra turned, making his way back up the ladder. He threw a glance back down, over the railing at the Sith Lord—standing right where he’d left him, motionless.

“You know _nothing_ ,” Vader hissed, staring up at him. “By the time you see the truth, it will be too late for you.”

Ezra opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. He shook his head and turned, leaving Vader alone with his holo.

* * *

 

Ezra raised his hand to rap on Sabine’s door, but it slid open before he had a chance. Ahsoka leaned against the doorframe, rubbing sleep from her eye.

“Ezra?” she asked. “What is it? I sensed turmoil.”

He hesitated for a brief second, before unclipping the remote from his jacket.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it towards her. Ahsoka drew back, puzzled.

“What--?”

“I don’t want—“ Ezra shook his head, letting out a frustrated exhale. “I can’t have this right now.” Ahsoka just raised an eyebrow in response.

“Please,” Ezra said, taking a step towards her. “I don’t want this.”

Ahsok frowned. “You’re not afraid of him anymore?”

“No—I mean, I don’t know. But this isn’t going to help me any.”

Ahsoka’s slim fingers closed around the remote, taking it gently from his grasp. She considered it for a moment, before looking back to Ezra.

“Kanan is right to be proud of you,” she said, softly. “Goodnight, padawan.” With that, she disappeared in the darkness of her cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

The Emperor sat back in his throne, _deeply_ displeased. His apprentice hadn’t contacted him in days—for almost _two weeks_ , he had been totally unreachable by hololink or through their bond, hidden from his Master’s sight. Sidious wanted to grind his teeth just thinking about it. He resisted the urge, instead accepting the incoming transmission with a sharp jab of his finger.

“Governor Tarkin,” he spat. Never before had he expressed such aggravation towards the man—usually his most reliable delegate of Imperial power. “I trust you have news?”

Tarkin himself was the image of prim disapproval. Only a slight tightening around his mouth revealed the he felt the weight of the Emperor’s ire. “Your majesty,” he said, bowing stiffly from the waist. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back. Sidious knew his Grand Moff was finding his stay on Lothal _trying_ , to put it mildly, and yet, he had refused any suggestions to send a lower-ranking envoy in his stead—Tarkin was more irked by incompetence gumming up the machinery of the Imperial Navy than any personal inconvenience. If there was a man to bring the Outer Rim to heel after thousands of years of chaos, it was Wilhuff Tarkin. Calculating, creative, too disciplined in his ruthlessness to be called cruel—had he possessed the Force, the man would have made a Sith Lord to be reckoned with.

It was fortunate for the both of them that he did not.

“Yes, my Lord,” Tarkin replied, “though I regret to inform you of its…ill tidings.” Tarkin’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Lord Vader has not yet been recovered.”

Sidious did not respond. _That much is obvious_. Only for Tarkin would he allow this moment of hesitancy—in another man, it might have revealed fear, or a desperate search for euphemisms and double-talk to win back the Emperor’s favor.  But in Tarkin, he sensed genuine frustration:  no one wanted Vader back on Lothal as keenly as he did. It had been impossible to hide the way his eyes lit up when his request for Vader’s aid in purging the ranks of the resident government had been granted. Sidious had often wondered what would become of their partnership when the Death Star was finally completed, and Tarkin had a weapon of terror that answered to him alone.

Tarkin took a short breath, as if steadying himself. “We have reason to believe that Lord Vader has been captured by the cell of rebels operating on Lothal.”

For a moment, Sidious forgot himself. “ _Impossible_ ,” he sneered. “You told me their resident Jedi were nothing more than children and pretenders.”

“That is true, milord,” Tarkin said, with another quick incline of his head. “I also regret to inform you that we seem to have lost General Tagge in a botched recovery attempt.” Tarkin’s voice made it clear that he did not particularly regret this bit of news at all.

Sidious sat back in his chair. This was an irritating loss, but not a devastating one. He could easily maneuver the next scion of TaggeCo back into his sphere of influence. He was more concerned with the Rebels’ abilities to rob him of a member of his elite naval commanders— _that_ was worrisome.

“How?”

“Our intelligence is scarce—questionably so,” Tarkin said, with a false mildness. Sidious caught his meaning.

“You suspect Tagge of being involved in Vader’s disappearance?”

“No, milord, but I had doubts about his loyalty to your rule.”

Sidous steepled his fingers. That _was_ a shame, then—a game snuffed out before it could truly begin. But he had no time to dwell on the lost opportunity; there was still a question of Lord Vader’s embarrassing predicament.

“Tell me what little you know.”

“Vader set out from Lothal City eleven days ago, investigating a—ah, _premonition_ he had.” Tarkin flicked his gaze upwards, where he met the gaze of Sidious’ projection on his end of the connection. Too fast to be described as cynical—more like probing. Sidious allowed this to slide as well—Tarkin was curious about the nature of Vader’s power, but not obnoxiously so. “He believed that Lothal may be host to a hidden Jedi Temple.”

Sidious inhaled sharply. “Vader’s mission was to assist in the purging of incompetents and stamp out the rebel strain,” he hissed. “I did _not_ give him free rein to chase the ghost of the Jedi!”

 “Lord Vader believed—and I agreed—that the Jedi we uncovered may have been using the Temple as a base of operations—or worse, plumbing its deaths for…arcane secrets, and the like. Perhaps a weapons cache.” Tarkin clearly had no idea what the interior of a Jedi temple was like, nor did he seem to care. He didn’t understand the nature of the Force, but he did respect the power granted to it devotees. Good.

“And were they?” Sidious asked, voice icy.

“It is difficult to say with certainty, milord,” Tarkin replied, crisply. “We have reason to believe Vader was incapacitated during his search of the Temple. Somehow, the rebels were alerted to his— _distress_ —before the garrison was, and were able to take advantage of the situation.”

“Leading to his capture.”

“Precisely.”

Sidious teased his mounting fury into something more manageable, reaching for the Dark Side to clarify his sight and guide him to piece together these scant fragments of information. “What of Tagge’s failure to recover Vader?”

“The Rebels were holding Vader in a base located on an asteroid in the Gamor system. We were alerted to the existence of the base and Vader’s captivity by one of ISB’s deep cover operatives, who has been attempting to gain access to the so-called _Alliance High Command_ —“ Tarkin wrinkled his nose at that, “—for the past two years. He contacted the garrison in Lothal City, but Tagge’s fleet was much closer—I ordered him to coordinate directly with the General for the duration of the rescue, rather than his ISB handlers. Tagge was supposed to ensure any further information was passed onto myself and ISB, but—“

“But the general had designs of his own,” Sidious hissed. The fool was lucky he was dead. Tarkin nodded.

“I cannot say what, ah, _lapse in judgement_ prompted him to travel with the rescue party, but they were all killed in the course of their mission—down to a man. By the time the rest of the fleet arrived, the Rebels were long gone. They were thorough in covering their tracks; the entire base had been rigged with a self-destruct mechanism.”

“Leaving no clue as to where the Rebels have taken Vader,” Sidious clenched his fist around the arm of his throne.

“No, milord.”

Sidious allowed the silence between them to stretch on an uncomfortably long time. “Governor,” he enunciated carefully, drawing out the syllables, “have you contacted me simply to recite a litany of your failures?”

The lines around Tarkin’s eyes tightened with strain, but he tilted his chin upwards in passive defiance. “No, milord,” he repeated. “I took the liberty of sending your Inquisitors to visit the site of Vader’s abduction.”

Finally, his most competent man was living up to his previous work. “I trust they have finished their report?”

“I thought it best if you heard their findings from them directly, milord.”

“Very good. Put them through.”

Two dark figures flickered into being next to Tarkin, kneeling with head bowed. “Master,” they chorused, before rising in unison. Palpatine allowed himself a brief, internal smirk—he knew it irked Vader when his pawns presumed to act as though they would _ever_ have a chance to win the title of apprentice. Vader had no cause for concern—there were only ever two.

Though, if his apprentice was no longer capable of handling _padawans_ …

“The Temple is strong with the Force,” one hissed, breaking his train of thought. “The Jedi—“

“The Jedi do not concern me,” Sidious cut her off, abruptly. “What of Vader?”

The dark acolyte hesitated before continuing. “Lord Vader’s presence lingered in a room of dark glass—it was fractured, but when he attempted to take samples no weapon or strength we possessed could even scratch it. That…is all we know.”

Sidious’ fury chafed beneath his restraint, the Dark Side snapping all around him, begging for a chance to run wild. “It is not enough. Only return when you have found something useful,” he snarled. “You are _dismissed_.” The Inquisitor bowed before feeling from the view of the holocam.

The Sith Master pursed his lips, considering. A room of dark glass, in a place where the Force ran deep—perhaps he had heard of such a thing before, in his studies of the Dark Side-- studies he had been forced to neglect in the recent years. Dust grew thick on his collection of holocrons…after all the blood and treasure he had expended to acquire them, that simply would not do.

“Continue to search for the rebels,” he declared, suddenly. “Should you discover Lord Vader’s whereabouts, report to me immediately—but do not attempt to mount a rescues mission.”

Tarkin was visibly startled by this. “My Lord--? Vader is needed here on Lothal—“

Sidious waved his hand. “I will grant you whatever support you require in his absence,” he assured him, dismissively. Tarkin was unmoved, his brow furrowed in deep concern. Sidious bared his yellow teeth in an expression that could not quiet be called a smile.

“Lord Vader can look after himself—perhaps he needs that reminder as badly as you do.”

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sank deeper into the shadows of his corner seat, subtly edging the glowbulb toward the opposite end of his small table. _Nothing to see here_ , he projected into the Force. _You have business elsewhere_.

Not that he really needed the misdirection. Tatooine was a place populated almost entirely by people who didn’t want to be noticed, those hoping to skirt beneath the radar and remain as unmemorable as possible. This particular cantina was full of single-occupant tables, hoods pulled low and restless, shifting eyes. For now, the Force was quiet, only undercut by the low hum of anticipation—something coming. Something big.

_But what? Or who?_

Obi-Wan stared into his drink, a glass of water serving to maintain the illusion he was there for the same reason as the others: to drown his sorrows. _If only they would stay under_ , he thought without humor, listening furtively to the conversations taking place around him. He was ready, as the barest whisper of the Empire, to run out the door, steal a speeder and floor it all the way to the Lars’ homestead…

_Live in the present_ , he chided himself, forcibly easing his death grip on his mug. The low muttered conversations around him were colorful in language and content, but none hinted at potential Imperial activity in the Outer Rim. Obi-Wan should have been relieved, but instead his frustration grew only deeper. This was pointless. If the Empire decided to come to Tatooine the stream of fleeing outlaws would block out the twin suns…yet Obi-Wan couldn’t stay cloistered in his hut by the Dune Sea. Something was _happening_ —the Force was winding tighter and tighter, like a bowstring ready to snap—

He was the one ready to snap. Obi-Wan sighed down at his mug again—he could a _real_ drink…

_No_ , he thought firmly, clamping down on that thought. _How would that help Luke_?

Luke, who was only just leaving childhood but was gentle and kind far beyond his years—what good could Obi-Wan do for him drunk, or worse yet, intoxicated by memories of a time now lost? For years he had been so sure—Anakin was gone, whatever lived in him now is not the boy he trained. Then he had received Ahsoka’s message, and been swept away by a frantic, _manic_ tide of hope. Anakin wasn’t lost to the Dark Side—he was there, praying for someone to find him…

But now, in the cold light of day, Obi-Wan was forced to consider a third possibility: that whatever sliver of Anakin was left could not be reached, only released. When he walked away from the burning wreck of Vader that day, he never could have dreamed the man would survive. For fifteen years he’d lived with the guilt of knowing his arrogance had condemned the Galaxy—now, alone with his thoughts, he wondered if he had condemned Anakin as well: to live forever at the whim of the Emperor, crying out from somewhere within Vader’s psyche, screaming into the void…

Obi-Wan took a long, slow, breath. Speculating was useless. He’d made a foolish decision based on nothing more than false hope and selfishness— _feel, don’t think, trust your instincts,_ he could almost hear Qui-Gon’s voice saying, but he ignored it. If he wanted to keep Luke safe from the consequences of his actions, he would need his wits about him.

And if the time came for him to do what he could not on Mustafar—to do right by his padawan—to set him free—

Then he would be a Jedi.

With that grim resolution, Obi-Wan stood, leaving a handful of credits on the table. He would learn nothing more today.

* * *

 

The night was cold on Tatooine—something that surprised off-worlders. When the suns sank beneath the horizon they took the baking heat with them, leaving the moons to cast long purple shadows on the cool sands. Far away from the lights of the big cities, the stars shone clear in the velvety midnight sky. Luke crawled out of his window, making his way carefully up the porous synthstone to the top of the squat dome roof. He leaned back on his hands, taking in the breadth of the sky.

_Soon_ , a voice inside him said. When? He wanted to ask. He’d been waiting fifteen years. When?

_Soon_ , was all it would answer.

Luke took a deep breath. Unable to sleep, he watched the moons drift across the sky and let his imagination soar to meet them.

Soon.

* * *

 

After the explosive arguments surrounding their first day in hyperspace, the passengers on the Ghost settled into a kind of uneasy truce. Ahsoka approached Hera, quietly offering to agree to a set of guidelines on when Vader’s remote should be used—if ever. There had been another fight: Hera didn’t see any circumstances that would make such a disgusting thing acceptable, and Ahsoka pointed out she didn’t _have_ to offer any concessions. They came to a draw: Ahoska said she’d only take action if Vader threatened a life or was close to actually escaping, and Hera…hadn’t said _no_ to those terms.

She wasn’t proud of herself.

The idea that she was causing such a ruckus because she was somehow _soft_ towards Vader made her grind her teeth. She’d been there to shake Kanan awake in the middle of the night when his memories of the Purge caught up to him; she had studied the way Vader had ruthlessly decimated any opposition to the Emperor’s rule. The revelation that he was _Anakin Skywalker_ certainly didn’t endear him to her—the very deepest and hottest parts of the Sith hells were for traitors. Vader deserved what happened to him—

But until he’d received his day before the tribunal, that retribution wasn’t theirs to give. That was the _law_ —maybe not a formal, codified law, but a higher one. An older law than even the Republic had embodied, one that even guerillas and insurrectionists followed: the law that made them sentient beings, and not _animals_. Without it, they were the Empire in everything but name.

So yes, she would enjoy watching Vader receive a blaster bolt between the eyes… or maybe the one who lived by the lightsaber would also die by it. Either way, good riddance. But for now—

Hera leaned back in her chair, arms folded, watching he holofeed from the cargo bay. Vader had proven relatively docile so far. It had taken Force-suppressing cuffs, an override of his suit, and three Jedi aboard, but he seemed to have come around to their way of thinking…or at least, he was content to bide his time before he found a way to kill them all. At any rate, he was quiet. Ahsoka agreed that it was no longer necessary to have guards watching him all the time; instead, Hera would keep an eye on him while she sat up in the cockpit, also on watch for any kind of hyperspace emergency.

Vader watching was…much less thrilling than one might have assumed. Sometime he shifted positions, but for the most part he—sat. It was eerie, how seldom he moved. It was hard to tell if he ever slept, sitting up ramrod straight throughout the day and night cycle.

 Maybe he didn’t need to sleep—Ahsoka said he didn’t need to eat. Hera had asked, alarmed, whether or not they were providing him with rations, and Ahsoka just shrugged and Vader’s suit provided him with ‘nutrients’ at appropriate intervals. She had no idea what that entailed, but hoped she would never find out first hand. It sounded disgusting.

Hera had asked Kanan about Vader’s strange behavior at a group meal. _“He’s meditating,” Kanan had replied, stonily. “He can touch just enough of the Force to do that”_

_“The way you meditate?”_

_“Not quite. He’s using the Dark Side. It’s… not pleasant to be around,” he said, with a grimace._

_“It’s a little like someone standing outside your window, lighting fires and screaming death threats at all hours,” Ahsoka chimed in, darkly. Kanan gestured towards her with his fork._

_“Exactly.”_

Hera couldn’t help but feel happy for Kanan—the revelation of Obi-Wan’s survival and Ahsoka’s presence in the Rebellion had been so _good_ for him. He was finally allowing some of the tension inside him to ease--not entirely, but enough that she stopped worrying about him grinding his teeth down to nubs. He would casually mention things from the past to her, he slept through the night (complaints about Vader’s metaphysical shouting into the void aside), he even quietly shared with her traditions from the Temple he hoped to pass on to Ezra. For once, Kanan seemed like he had faith in their cause—hope for the future.

If only Ezra could benefit from the resurgence of the Jedi as well.

Hera knew he was still shaken by what he’d witnessed—what he’d _experienced_ at Vader’s hands. It broke her heart to remember how viscerally he’d reacted to Vader murdering the Imperial informant right in front of him. Even she had felt sick, and Ezra was hardly sheltered but _that_ —

She wondered, not for the first time, if it was wrong to entangle Ezra and Sabine in the larger Rebellion—to risk their lives for the cause as well as her own. It was a moot point, now: neither of them would allow her to kick them out, and Ezra’s Jedi training would make him a target of the Empire wherever he went. She wondered, though, if that was the reality of their situation or a collection of comforting excuses.

_“Sometimes Vader does this thing,” she had said at that same meal, “he just kind of stares down at his hands.” She mimed the action._

_“He’s watching that holo,” Ezra spoke up. The five of them turned to him._

_“He does it for hours,” Hera said, slowly._

_Ezra shrugged, uncomfortable. “He watches it over and over,” he said. “Though sometime he does just pause it and…stare.” No one really knew how to reply to this knew, disturbing tidbit. Ahsoka’s mouth hardened, and the faint lines appeared across her forehead again. Ezra shoved a giant forkful of food in his mouth, and the conversation turned to something less…unsettling._

Hera wondered what kind of gundark’s nest they were bringing little Luke Skywalker into. She wondered, uneasily, about Vader’s declaration that his son’s life was more important to him than his sworn oath to wipe out the Jedi and the Alliance. Would Luke Skywalker be another innocent drawn into a life of running and fighting? What did Vader actually _want_ with the boy—?

She glanced back at the holofeed, and her blood ran cold. Vader still sat in the cargo bay—but he wasn’t alone.

_Chopper_.

Hera threw herself out of her chair, reciting every foul word she knew in Basic before switching to Ryl once she ran out, and sprinted through the quiet corridors of the Ghost. Chopper, helpful as ever, had fallen into a sulk ever since they’d joined up with the Alliance proper—probably because he’d been threatened with a restraining bolt for refusing to play nice with the other droids. He’d taken to skulking around the Ghost, refusing to be useful but making himself scarce enough that Hera hadn’t even thought to take measures to keep him away from Vader.

Who knew what Chopper would do when confronted with what he probably perceived as a bigger droid? Hera wanted to buy a replacement droid just as much as she wanted to be sucked out into the void of space when Vader tore a hole in her ship after her stupid, _stupid_ astromech drove him into a killing rage—

She skidded to a halt on the platform overlooking the bay. So far, the Ghost’s hull remained intact; it seemed Vader was not yet inclined to throw punches or tear his cuffs off. If anything, he seemed…amused?

“Insolent thing,” he was saying. Everything word was harsh, filtered through his vocoder, but the _menace_ from all his earlier speech wasn’t there. “You are more suited to a scrap heap than a terrorist cell.” Chopper protested furiously, waving his arms for emphasis. From the sound of it, he was being even more rude than usual. With horror, she saw his electric prod slide from his chassis, crackling with electricity.

This was it—

But Vader simply knocked the prod away with the back of his hand.

“No,” he chided, firmly. Hera’s eyes went wide. When Chopper actually withdrew his shock prod and backed away she very seriously considered the idea that this was actually some kind of bizarre hallucination brought on by stress.

The little droid squawked at Vader, rattling back and forth.

Vader’s vocoder made a garbled noise that might have been a snort. “At least I am capable of performing basic maintenance on myself,” he shot back. “Are the Rebels really so degenerate that they allow their own droids fall to pieces before their eyes?” Chopper replied in a manner that Hera could only describe as chagrinned. She thought her eyes would pop out of her head.

“Then it is your own fault,” Vader declared, pointing accusingly at the C1 unit (the effect was lessened by the cuffs). “Come here.” Chopper rolled back, shaking his head. “Your rattling and groaning is enough to wake the dead,” Vader scolded him. “You will shake apart into the heap of junk you were made from.” Chopper seemed to hesitate, weighing his outright dislike of strangers (and people he knew—essentially, his dislike of everyone) with…whatever made him want to engage with Vader in the first place.

Then, unbelievably, he rolled forward and shifted back onto his two legs, extending his front wheel to Vader. Hera’s jaw dropped.

Vader worked quickly, methodically—he pulled off his gloves, revealing the skeletal prosthetics beneath, before immediately finding the emergency release on Chopper’s wheel casing. The little droid hardly even shuddered as Vader dismantled the complicated workings surrounding his third leg, coming away with a long, snarled rope of what looked like matted hair and who-knew-what-else. Hera almost gagged. Vader tossed it aside, casual as can be.

“Was that really difficult?” he asked. Chopper blew a loud raspberry, and Vader tilted his mask back. “Perhaps I will leave you partially dismantled for that remark.” The droid wailed in response, waving his arms woefully. Vader relented, sliding the pieces back into place like he was born working on outmoded astromechs.

“This will happen again if you insist of skipping maintenance. Do not be too proud, little droid.”

This was too much one for Twi’lek pilot to handle. What in space--?

“You speak binary!” Hera blurted out, to her shock as much as Vader’s. The Sith froze, his whole body going rigid, before slowly turning to face her.

“So?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He was tense, like she’d caught him doing something shameful.

“ _So_?!” Hera spluttered. “You’re not some grease monkey. What do you know about droids?”

Vader’s hands clenched into fists. He thumped the side of Chopper’s chassis, hard, and the droid scurried off, grumbling and moaning. Vader turned away from Hera.

“It is none of your concern what I do and do not know,” he said, any light playfulness from earlier replaced by the cold monotone she’d come to know so well.

He wouldn’t answer any of questions after that.

* * *

 

It was strange, Kanan thought, that Ahoska could look every inch like a Jedi Master even in her scavenged attire. She sat on a borrowed bunk, legs folded, eyes closed, deep in mediation. Her face wa tilted slightly upwards, as though she were listening hard for a voice on high to offer guidance.

“Knock knock,” Kanan said aloud. Ahsoka cracked one eye open, vibrant blue against the red and white of her face. She broke her pose, turning towards him.

“Do you have news?” she asked, gravely.

“Old news. Mind if I sit?” He barely waited for her gesture before he settled in next to her. He removed the holocron from his pocket, bringing it out in front of them.

“Don’t get too excited,” he warned, at the look on her face. “There’s not much on here that you don’t already know. I, uh…” he trailed off. This was presumptuous of him. In a way, it was out of line, to barge in like this and ask—

“Do you remember when the Temple fell?” he asked, in a rush. “Could you—“ He stopped at Ahsoka’s stony expression.

“I knew,” she replied, softly but not gently. “I was far from the Core, but I—felt it.”

“Did you ever wonder how it happened?” Kanan asked quietly. “I mean, how it _could_ have happened?”

“Every day,” she replied. She had a faraway look in her eyes. “It was like the universe ending—like the stars winked out one by one, and the rest of the Galaxy…didn’t notice. Didn’t _care_.” She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Of course, now we know how the entire Order could have been brought to its knees,” she said, her voice thick with bitterness. _The knowing is worse than ignorance_ , she didn’t say. She didn’t have to.

“I didn’t—really come here to talk about the fall,” he said, awkwardly. “Or—Vader. Not exactly.” Ahsoka’s face was a patient, impassive mask, but he felt a slight curl of annoyance— _then why bring it up?_ she was thinking _._  Hera told him he’d have to talk about what happened that day—the way he still heard Master Depa’s last words in dreams— _but not until you’re ready_ , she assured him.

He wasn’t ready yet.

“Did you ever have a chance to hear Obi-Wan’s message?” Kanan blurted out.

“What message?”

Kanan held out his hand, activating the holocron. It split apart, hanging in the air like a soft blue beacon, casting eerie shadows on their faces.

“Obi-Wan reversed the Temple beacon,” he said, softly. “He warned the Jedi about—what was happening. He saved so many of us. I—I recorded it. I kept it.” Ahsoka put a hand on his arm, offering him a tendril of compassion.

“I think you should see it,” he went on, his voice stronger. “You should—be able to remember him this way.”

Ahsoka looked a little puzzled at his wording, but her attention was soon drawn to the ghostly image of Obi-Wan, summoned from within the holocron. Her face broke into a smile, but somehow it was the saddest expression Kanan had ever seen her wear. _That_ was the Obi-Wan she remembered—a Jedi, fully realized in his mastery of the Force, confident and assured. Unbent by the weight of passing years.

_Trust in the Force,_ the image ofObi-Wan admonished. Kanan knew each word as if they were etched on his bones. _Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed and our future is uncertain. We will each be challenged—our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere…_

“A new hope,” she murmured to herself. “Luke. He was thinking of Luke…” She looked at Kanan. “He said he’d been on the most important mission of his life for the past fifteen years—it was Anakin’s _son_.” For a moment, she looked at the hologram with fragile wonderment—a light that faded too briefly into the grim expression she usually wore these days.

“He’s ready to throw it all away,” she said, stonily. “For _Vader_.” Kanan stood, pressing the holocron into her hands.

“Like I said,” he told her, as gently as he could. “You deserve to remember him this way.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply before heading out the door.

* * *

 

The tension aboard the Ghost ramped up the closer they got to Tatooine. A multi-day journey trapped on board ship hurtling through hyperspace was hard enough, but the Ghost was at maximum capacity and it was impossible to find a quiet moment alone. Even that could have been managed, but with four bickering Force-sensitives aboard things were stretched to their breaking point. Ezra had actually snapped at Ahsoka—and despite his profuse apologies, she’d received permission from Kanan to give him some “structured activities” to “remind him of his place as a padawan”. Right now she was making him do one-handed handstands, rummaging through the cabinets for things to balance on his feet.

She and Kanan seemed less interested in the stern and solemn ways of the Jedi Order, both of them shooting smirks at one another over Ezra’s protests. It was the first real upturn in the mood since they’d started out for Tatooine.

“It’s Vader,” Kanan confided in Hera, coming to sit beside her. He rubbed his temples. “He’s— he’s _agitated_ and he doesn’t care who knows it.” Ezra wobbled dangerously, but corrected just in time. Ahsoka moved to adjust his form with quick, careful movements.

“Doesn’t he have—“ Hera made a vague, circular gesture “—shields?” Kanan had tried to explain the concept to her using the Ghost’s own shield system, which had ended in frustration for the both of them. He shrugged.

“Either he’s hoping we kill one another—which we might, honestly,” Kanan said, “or…” he trailed off, uncertain. “He may genuinely be that concerned.”

“About Luke?”

Kanan shrugged. “If the Imps capture the kid they’ll have major leverage on Vader.”

Hera folded her arms. “You think that’s the only thing Vader cares about?”

“I know it is. The Sith only—“

“Care about power, I know.” Hera shifted, turning to watch Ezra—now he had a stack of datapads balanced precariously on one foot, and one of his stormtrooper helmets on the other. “But didn’t Luke come into the picture just before he became a Sith?”

“Jedi don’t have children either,” Kanan replied, stoically. Hera raised an eyebrow.

“But you have padawans.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

He shot her a probing look. “Have you been talking to Ezra?”

“Not as much as I’d like.” She admitted, leaning back. Something had finally broken Ezra’s concentration, and he collapsed into a heap, all three datapads somehow landing squarely on the back of his head. “I’m worried about him.”

“Being rude to masters and receiving upside down punishment is a milestone in every padawan’s training,” Kanan said, breezily. “I mean, Ahsoka’s really only supposed to be laughing at him _internally_ , but—“

“Not that,” Hera said, shaking her head, lekku swaying. “Just…all of this. Vader. We’re about to go from shoot-outs and heists to a full blown war.” She looked at him, searching his face. “Should we bring him into it?”

“He’s already in it,” Kanan said, stonily. “The Empire knows I have a padawan. Where could he go that they wouldn’t find him?” He held her gaze, determinedly. “Besides, the Jedi survived the Clone Wars and the Purge. We will survive this.”

Ahsoka was pulling Ezra up to his feet, apparently decided he’d learned his lesson. She leaned over and ruffled his hair, affectionately. Ezra pulled a sour face, but didn’t push her hand away.

“That’s enough for today, padawan,” he said, with a grin. “Did all of that blood rushing to your head give you any clarity?”

Ezra scowled. “It gave me a headache,” he complained.

“Maybe more practical training would help you burn off some of that—“

“No,” Hera said, firmly, stepping in. “No lightsabers or blasters on the ship.”

“But I’ve come so far in my training—“ Ezra started, but Ahsoka put a hand on his shoulder.

“Your captain knows best,” she said, shooting Hera an imperceptible look. “We wouldn’t want to blow a hole in our ship in the middle of hyperspace.”

“It will only be a few hours before we reach Tatooine, anyways,” Hera said, keeping her voice light but neutral. It was unlikely they’d have downtime once they reached the planet, and Hera wasn’t sure anyone knew what exactly would happen after they dealt with Tagge’s men.

Her commlink beeped. “Spectre Two,” Sabine’s voice rang out, sounding a little annoyed. “Are you planning on relieving me any time soon?”

Hera checked her chrono. “My bad, Spectre Five,” she answered, mouth twisting in a half smile. She’d totally lost track of time. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” Hera looked up, surveying the chaos left by the three Jedi she’d somehow acquired. “Do _not_ do anything stupid before we get to real space,” she warned. She didn’t believe their falsely-innocent protests for a second, but turned around and jogged off towards the cockpit anyway.

Hera paused outside the cargo bay. She could hear a steady sound from within—the rhythmic fall of heavy boots against durasteel. She peered around the door, only to see Vader pacing the length of the bay. He turned at each corner with almost military precision, hands still clenched in front of him, head cast downwards.

Hera pursed her lips. She had nothing but contempt for Vader…but now she also had _questions_. He could have been trapped in the temple on Lothal until the end of the Galaxy because he wanted to see Padme Amidala and their son again—the lover and child he wasn’t supposed to have had in the first place.

It didn’t make any _sense_.

Vader came to an abrupt halt, with only the slight flutter of his cape revealing he’d been in motion. He raised the lenses of his mask to meet her gaze, as if daring her to speak.

“Our ETA is in three hours,” she said, almost against her will. This was a stupid idea. And yet—it wasn’t like Vader could do anything, right? Not with the threat of losing his son _forever_ hanging over his head. “Would you… like to come up to the cockpit and watch our descent?”

If Hera was surprised at her own daring, Vader was floored. He went rigid, fists clenched, before tilting his head in consideration.

“Why?” he rumbled. Hera shifted, uncomfortably.

“Because you’ll wear a hole in my ship if you don’t stop pacing,” she settled on, unwilling to reveal her hand. If Vader noticed how flimsy her excuse was, he did the smart thing and kept his mouth shut.

“Come on, yes or no?”

Vader took a step forward, warily, like he was waiting for her to spring some kind of trap. Then, faster than she would have thought possible, he joined her up on the landing, just a half step in front of her. He navigated the ladder pretty handily for a man in cuffs—Hera felt her stomach lurch at the idea that Vader wasn’t quite as restrained at they thought.

“Lead the way, _captain_ ,” he rumbled, in a way that made her bones ache. Being addressed by her title by a Sith Lord was…more unnerving than she would have thought. Was that the same tone Vader used on all his underlings? For the first time in her life, Hera found herself feeling sorry for the Imp brass.

At the sound of Vader’s breathing Sabine whipped around in her seat, hand on her blaster.

“Easy,” Hera said, holding up her hand. “He’s with me.”

“Why?” Sabine asked, actually edging her weapon out of its holster. Hera fixed her with her best Sabine-I-am-the-captain-do-not-detonate-that-or-I-swear expression.

“Supervised field trip. No one will be happy if our resident Sith gets space crazy. Put that away, I’ll take it from here.” For a long, tense moment, it looked like Sabine wouldn’t back down. She stared up at Vader, coiled and ready to spring—then she shrugged, sliding back from warrior to teenager in the blink of an eye.

“If you say so,” she said, before heading out, taking as wide a berth around Vader as was possible in the cramped space. Vader seemed to make himself at home—he stood directly in the middle of the open space, feet shoulder width part, he mask tilted up to take in the swirling vortex of hyperspace. The long blue trails of the trails reflected eerily off the lenses of his mask—if not for her perpetual breathing, he could have been an ancient and very creepy Sith statue.

Now she was alone with Vader, but Hera’s half formed plan to question him seemed stupider than ever. What was she supposed to even say? _Hey, don’t you know tyranny is bad?_   Hera resisted the urge to drag her palm across her face at the absurdity of it all. Did she really even _care_ what Vader had to say for himself?

She looked away from the console, up into the impenetrable black mask. Vader seemed content to watch the stars streak by. _You know that will make you crazy, right?_

“Either speak or remain silent,” Vader boomed, jolting Hera out of her reverie. “Your thoughts are _irritating_.”

Hera’s jaw dropped. Her _thoughts_ were irritating? This criminal could stand before her, bold as brass, and complain he was _annoyed_ after all that he’d done— _maybe Ahsoka had the right idea after all._

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her mouth once again moving faster than her brain. Vader finally swung around to face her.

“As I recall, _you_ invited me here to witness our descent, _Captain_ ,” he bit out. Hera was really growing to hate the way he made her rank sound like a joke.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She’d come this far, she might as well jump in both feet first: “What do _you_ want with a kid?”

Vader stiffened. “Have you spoken with the boy?” he asked, finally, slowly.

“Who, Ezra?” Hera asked, bemused. “No, this is all me.” Vader had nothing to say to that. He looked back out into the whorls of hyperspace, maddeningly silent.

“Surely,” he rumbled, long after the point where Hera assumed he was ignoring her, “even a lawless brigand like _you_ understands the concept of reclamation. My son was _stolen_ from me.”

“You make Luke sound like a thing,” Hera scowled. “He’s a person—“

“You think I don’t know that?” Vader hissed, suddenly enraged. “He is my _son_. He—“ Vader pulled back, as stopping that train of thought required physical effort. “He will be more powerful than any Jedi in the history of the Order.”

“That’s what you care about,” Hera said, bitterly. “What are you going to do, train him to be like you? Follow in your footsteps, so he can be a lapdog for the Emperor—“

“I am no one’s dog,” Vader snarled, his hand cutting through the air in a sharp motion. “Luke will follow his destiny—to cement the rule of the Empire. To end your foolish war and bring _peace_.”

Hera’s mouth fell open. She didn’t know how to respond to that kind of twisted logic.

“You want to make Queen Amidala’s son serve a dictator,” she said, her voice quiet but furious. “That’s _perverse_. Do you really think she—“

“Do not speak of Padme!” Vader roared, fists clenched at his sides. He seemed to recognize his slip, but made no more to reign himself in—with one long stride he stood directly before Hera, pointing a black-gloved finger almost beneath her nose.

“ _Never_ presume to tell me what she—“

The doors slid open to reveal Ahsoka, looking like a thundercloud made flesh. Vader withdrew, almost sulkily, but didn’t step away from Hera.

“What is going on here?” Ahsoka asked, her voice and eyes steely.

“A friendly disagreement,” Vader rumbled. Hera didn’t bother to hide her astonishment—was that a _joke_?

“Why is he here?” Ahsoka demanded, rounding on Hera. “What were you thinking? Vader could have dispatched you in a _second_ and—“

“And what? Taken control of the ship for five seconds before your realized what was happening and shut him down?” Hera interrupted, harshly. “Maybe he could have called his buddies in the Empire who fitted him with slave tech in the first—“

“That’s not—“ Vader bellowed, a furious outburst cut off mid-sentence. “That isn’t—you—“ he clenched his fists so tightly Hera could hear the synthleather creak with strain. She looked at Ahsoka, hoping for some kind of insight on what was happening now, but to not avail. Ahsoka watched, with an unreadable expression, as Vader sputtered.

“Do not speak of things you do not understand,” he managed to spit out, turning from Hera. He met Ahsoka’s gaze for a second—Hera assumed something passed between them in the Force that she simply wasn’t privy too—before turning to look out the viewport, arms folded across his chest.

_What the hell was that?_ Hera felt her face heat with outrage.

“What makes you think a _twi’lek_ wouldn’t know anything about—“

“Captain,” Ahsoka cut her off, firmly but not harshly. “Drop it.” Hera turned to her, eyebrows raised in disbelief, but there was something about the way Ahsoka stared at the back of Vader’s helmet that made her stop.

It almost looked like _concern_. Mild, yes, but it was there? Did Ahsoka think Vader was volatile enough to actually attack Hera and the crew, consequence be damned? She’d made it clear she didn’t care for _his_ well-being in the slightest.

For a long moment, no one moved, Hera watching Ahsoka and Ahsoka watching Vader. Then, Ahsoka seemed to make up her mind, brushing dangerously close to Vader in order to settle herself in the co-pilot’s chair. Vader angled his mask down at her, but said nothing.

They fell into a kind of silence that couldn’t be called _friendly_ , necessarily, but Vader seemed to relax by a fraction as time went on. Hera started running a diagnostic on Ghosts’ systems, while Ahsoka leaned back in her chair in what Hera assumed was some light meditation. Vader continued his watch unabated, pointedly ignoring the two of them.

“Do we have a plan?” Hera asked, after an hour or so had passed. “I mean, we’re not just going to swoop in there, grab Luke and run, are we?”

“That is precisely what should be done,” Vader rumbled. Ahsoka arched an eyebrow.

“ ‘We’ doesn’t include _you_ ,” she drawled. “You’re not going anywhere near the kid.”

“He is—“

“Your son, we _know_ ,” Ahsoka half-shouted, exasperated. “Don’t you get tired of saying that?”

“Tagge’s men have likely already arrived,” Vader pressed. “They could have a lead of several hours—or _days_. It is imperative we reach Luke before they do.”

“The Imps don’t know where Luke is,” Ahsoka said, folding her arms over her chest—Hera refrained from mentioning how closely she mirrored Vader’s earlier stance. “And neither do we, for that matter.”

“I will know,” Vader said, ominously. “There is no one who can hide my son from me.”

“Obi-Wan did-- for fifteen _years_ ,” Hera shrugged. Vader rounded on her, and it was probably her imagination, but she thought she could feel the fury seeping out of him.

“Obi-Wan’s treachery runs deeper than you know,” he spat, harshly. “I will make sure he pays for hiding my son from me—and consigning him to that _hellhole_ of a planet.” The vehemence beneath his words seemed to even catch Ahsoka off-guard.

“You think Obi-Wan chose to hide on Tatooine because you hate it so much?” she asked, in disbelief. Vader’s silence was answer enough. “He _did_! He did, and it _worked_.” Ahsoka shook her head. “You don’t remember the good times we had there?” she asked, mockingly.

“You punish my son for your grievances against me,” Vader snarled, “You—“

“No one is saying that,” Ashoka cut him off. “You’re the one jumping to wild conclusions—you’re even more paranoid than the rumors say.”

Hera had a treacherous thought—that she might be paranoid, too, if she’d been captured by the enemy and betrayed by her admiral in the course of about three days. She stamped it down.

“I will kill you,” Vader rumbled, quietly. “I will wipe you out, down to a man, and none of you will _ever_ have a chance to harm him.”

There was something chilling about the matter-of-fact way he promised to slaughter them—there was none of his usual bluster and shouting in that statement. Just a cold fury, a single minded determination…

“You never said what was so bad about Tatooine in the first place,” Ahsoka muttered, brushing off the threat. “You’re _from_ there, wouldn’t you want your son to know about your homeworld?”

“You’re from _Tatooine_?” Hera blurted.

“No more questions,” Vader growled. He seemed—uncomfortable? _Embarrassed_?

“Are we talking about the same Tatooine? That little dustball on the edge of Hutt Space--?”

“I said be _silent_!” Vader thundered. He turned to Ahsoka, fast enough to make his cape swirl behind him. “Anything you know about Anakin Skywalker’s life is no longer relevant to me.”

Ahsoka arched an eyebrow. “You kept a lot of his grudges,” she pointed out.

                Vader stared fixedly out the window. “We will exit hyperspace in less than 90 standard minutes,” he said, coldly. Hera glanced at the computer in surprise—he was correct almost down to the minute. “I trust you are capable of holding your tongue until then?” Vader continued.

                “If you would honestly prefer to sit here in total silence…?” Ahsoka started. “Of course you do. Very well, _Vader_.”

                Hera sighed. Nothing to do but wait.

* * *

 

The Ghost reverted to real space with a shudder. Vader raised his mask, for all the world like a nek hound catching a scent.

“Luke,” he said. The word was quiet, almost reverent, even through his vocoder. For a brief instant, there was only the sound of Vader’s rhythmic breathing in the cockpit. The silence was shattered by Vader’s wordless snarl.

“I sense it too,” Ahsoka said, gravely. “The Imps are on their way.”

“Captain, bring us down in the northern hemisphere,” Vader barked, as though he were back on the bridge of the Executor. “Kenobi—“ he cocked his head. “He is not as clever as he thinks. Move aside, I will enter the coordinates—“ Hera didn’t budge. No way in hell was she going to let _Darth Vader_ —

“Let him do it,” Ahsoka said, quietly. She fixed Vader with a piercing stare. “You try and send us to an Imp outpost—“

Vader snarled again with frustration, punching the coordinates in with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Can’t your worthless deathtrap go any _faster_?” Vader snapped.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. The Force rippled and twisted somewhere above the planet, roiling with darkness- a kind of burning, caustic rage he hadn’t felt since—

He felt the blood drain from his face. He’d made a mistake—Force help him, he had made such a mistake. _Sentimental old fool!_ he cursed himself. He had dared to hope, and now—

_Luke_.

Luke was in danger. The poisonous, writing presence was streaking like an arrow towards the Lars homestead. The suns still beat down on Obi-Wan’s head, but he felt cold.

_What are you waiting for? Move!_

He threw the cover off his swoop bike, heedless of the clouds of dust swirling through the air. He only paused long enough to point himself in the direction of the homestead before gunning the throttle, praying he wouldn’t be too late.

* * *

 

The Ghost raced above the Dune Sea, thrusters whining as Hera poured all the power she could spare into them. The place was aptly named—the dunes looked like frozen golden waves from their vantage point, about a hundred meters off the ground. Ezra had never been to Tatooine before—but he could already tell he wouldn’t be interested in staying. The air was hot and dry as it whipped across his face, and it was laden with grit. With Hera at the the controls and Zeb manning the aft gun, it left the three Jedi, Sabine and Vader for the landing party.

“We are close,” Vader rumbled. He had his head cocked to the side, as if listening carefully for something. His cape whipped and snapped around him, for all the world like the agitated tail lashing of some jungle cat. “There!” He pointed a full second before the smooth white domes came into view, about five hundred meters out. And closing in rapidly on the quaint little scene—

“Stromtroopers!” Sabine called, from behind her macrobinocculars. “Six on speeder bikes, maybe as many as ten in that transport. We can overshoot them and take a defensive position at the farm.”

“You got that, Spectre Two?” Ahsoka asked into her commlink.

“Acknowledged, Spectre Five, Fulcrum.”

“Alright—“ Ahsoka started, but Vader thrust his wrists under her nose.

“Release me,” he demanded. Ahsoka looked at him with disdain.

“You aren’t—“

“These may hinder me,” Vader told her, severely, “but no power can stop me.” Ahsoka didn’t have time to consider his words—the wind stirred her lekku, and every second they were gaining.

“He already got a bunch of those stormtroopers at the base,” Sabine shouted over the rush of the wind. “Let him at ‘em.” Kanan half-shrugged in tentative agreement—it was the one thing they all agreed Vader was good at.

With a reluctant gestured, the cuffs fell from Vader’s wrists before flying to Ashoka’s hands, where she clipped them to her belt. “Zeb and Hera can be our eyes in the sky,” she started. “Sabine, can you find somewhere to lay down cover for us? Kanan, you and I—“

Vader had apparently heard all he cared to hear of Ahsoka’s plan. The Ghost overtook the stormtroopers, and Vader leapt from the landing platform, streaking through the air like some dark thunderbolt.

“Anakin, what are you _doing_?” Ahsoka shouted after him. It only took her a second to realize her mistake; she shut her mouth with a sharp snap and went pale beneath her markings. No one acknowledged her grievous error—or the pain beneath it.

The four of them had no choice but to watch Vader hurtle like a missile towards the Imp convoy. His aim was incredible—his boots struck the very nose of the large transport, clipping it as he crashed through the ground and causing the vehicle to fly through the air, flipping end-over-nose. The bike escorts swung wide, screeching to a halt, blasters raised.

“Did Vader just jump out of the karking ship?!” Zeb’s voice cracked over the comm, but everyone ignored him.

“New plan!” Ahsoka barked. “Kanan with me, you two stay with the ship—do _not_ do anything stupid!” Kanan barely had time to nod before Ahsoka’s two blades sprang to life in her hands, and they both took off towards the end of the landing platform, leaping into the air as though they were weightless.

“The Clone Wars was just _three years_ of that,” Sabine said, with a quiet awe.

The Ghost began to descend sharply, coming in to the ground just before the low white buildings of the farm. “I’ll head for the roof,” Sabine shouted to Ezra, pulling her helmet on. “You keep an eye on things down here, OK?” She didn’t wait for an affirmative before sprinting off.

But by the time Ezra was out of the ship, the battle was almost over. He emerged just in time to see Vader throw a speederbike into a trio of stormtroopers before Ahsoka moved in to finish them. He clipped his lightsaber back to his belt in a huff. There was no way he could compete with _that_.

The hair prickled on the back of Ezra’s neck, and he knew he wasn’t alone. He turned, and there was Obi-Wan Kenobi, lowering his lightsaber, watching Vader mop up the stormtroopers with one of the bleakest expressions Ezra had ever seen. His weapon glowed in his hand, his grip loose but ready. He turned, sad eyes meeting Ezra’s. The old Jedi Master opened his mouth to say something, but out of the corner of his eye Ezra saw Vader’s head snap up, then focus on their location.

_Obi-Wan_

The name tore through the Force like a thunderclap, causing Ezra’s heart to seize up for a fraction of a second. Vader came towards them, slowly but methodically, each giant stride coinciding with the suddenly cacophonous hammering of Ezra’s heart. The Force roiled, hissing and spitting from the heat of Vader’s all-consuming rage—and beneath that rage something dark, fetid, _horrible_ —

Kanan and Ahsoka were yelling, but some of the troopers were rallying and peppering them with blasterfire—their sabers worked fast, but they couldn’t deal with both the incoming fire and the rogue Sith. Vader continued on without missing a beat, drawing close enough that they could hear the rasp of his breath.

“It has been a long time,” Vader intoned. Obi-Wan said nothing, only tilting his head up to meet the eyeholes of Vader’s mask. His gaze went up and up, and Ezra saw Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in surprise. He’d never known Vader the machine, Ezra realized. He’d never been pinned beneath that blank stare before, or faced down the continuous, malicious rasp of the Sith’s breath.

“Anakin—“ Obi-Wan breathed, barely more than a whisper.

“Do not _dare_ ,” Vader hissed. “Do not _speak_ that name—“

“Listen to me,” Obi-Wan pleaded, but Vader was in no mood.

“You said everything you needed to that day-- over the roar of flames!” The Sith was consumed by his rage, it suffused him until his conscious mind was gone, lost to the howling winds of his wrath. Ezra had been witness to Vader’s darkness before, but this was different—there was something beneath, some stinking and sick, like the contents of an infected wound, left to fester—

                Something burst inside Vader and his _hatred_ was discharged, foul enough to turn Ezra’s stomach.

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan choked out. “Just—go back. Forget about—“

“I have surpassed you,” Vader intoned, taking up his march forward with a single-minded fury, “and now, I will _destroy_ you for what you have done—what you have _taken_ from me…”

There was a commotion behind them. A sound of footfalls against synthstone, a sharp hiss of ‘Luke get back here!’ that cut through the dangerous silence like a knife. There, in the doorway, stood the tousle-haired kid from the holo. Somehow, Luke was even more slight-looking in person, with blond hair that flopped over his wide eyes.

“Are you Jedi?” he asked, reverently.

Nobody moved. Ahsoka and Kanan slid to a halt about a half a meter behind Vader, but he didn’t turn to look at them—his mask was fixed past Obi-Wan, solely on Luke. The boy drew his whole attention, and Ezra could feel the Force around him grow tight, like it could snap at any moment. Vader took one slow step forward, then another—

“Luke!” A voice cried out in alarm. A woman burst out of the doorway of the small domed structure, followed by a weathered looking man. Both carried rifles as long as Ezra was.

“Kenobi?” the man asked, warily. “Who are these people? Why in the hell are there stormtroopers--?” he cut himself off. Vader was moving slowly towards the boy, inexorably, as if he didn’t quite have control of his limbs—his steps were less deliberate, almost jerky and uneven. The couple raised their rifles, shouting threats and warnings, but Vader paid them no heed—stopping only a half a foot away from Luke. To his credit, the farmboy didn’t even flinch in the Sith Lord’s presence— _he’s brave_ , Ezra thought _. Or maybe just really, really stupid_.

“I…” Luke looked up, into Vader’s mask, and then, amazingly, tried to peer around Vader’s bulk. He looked at Kanan, then Ahsoka, Ezra, Obi-Wan, and back to Vader.

“I don’t understand. Where’s my father?”

Ezra wondered if this was a nightmare—he almost prayed it was a nightmare, for his sake. For all their sakes’, maybe even for Vader’s sake as well. Not a word was spoken, there was no sound but the ever present cycle of Vader’s rasping breath.

                Luke’s face crumpled. “Where is he? Why didn’t he—“ he stopped, swallowing hard. Trying to compose himself. “Did he even get my message?”

                For a moment that seemed to last forever, Vader didn’t move, or speak. He only stood there, staring down at the boy he’d threatened to tear the Galaxy apart for. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and placed it on Luke’s shoulder. The boy’s upper arm was almost engulfed in his grasp but Vader was—careful.  Maybe even _delicate_ in his touch.

                “Your message was received,” Vader said. The vocoder didn’t allow for softness, but there was something almost gentle in the mechanical bass.  “Your father—wishes you well.”

                The sincere joy that rolled of Luke was almost blinding in its brilliance. His smile almost split his face in two. “Where is he?” he repeated, this time excitedly. “Is he coming? Was he injured, and had to wait up? Will—“

                The man behind Luke shook himself free of the spell of Vader’s presence. He charged forward, either unaware or uncaring that he risked the wrath of a Sith Lord. “Luke,” he asked, low and dangerous but never taking his eye off Vader. “What’s this about your father?”

                “He’s alive!” Luke said, eyes sparkling. “Ben told me!” He looked back to Vader. “The Jedi found him!”

                Ahsoka and Kanan both had their hands hovering over their lightsabers. Obi-Wan looked like he didn’t dare move, or even breathe. _What is Vader_ doing _? What’s he waiting for? Just say it!_ Ezra thought. His heart was in his throat, watching the drama unfold before him.

                “You told us Anakin was _dead_ ,” the man with the rifle said, rounding on Kenobi. He and the blond woman looked less than pleased at this news. “You said you were going to leave Luke _alone_. Why are there stormtroopers on my land, Kenobi?” 

                “Owen,” Obi-Wan started, reorienting himself. “There—there has been an upheaval, of sorts.”

                “The Empire knows you are here,” Vader blurted, cutting him off. He ignored Obi-Wan entirely, speaking only to Luke’s guardians. “It is only a matter of time before more troops come for the boy.”

                Owen paled. The woman with him swallowed visibly. “We’ll stay with my cousins for a while,” she said, decisively. “We’ll—we’ll say it was a Tusken attack, that they—“

                “Beru,” Obi-Wan cut her off, gently. “The Empire will not stop until they find him—not if it means burnings down every homestead from here to Mos Espa.” He hesitated, regret lining his face. “ _You_ will have to leave.”

                Beru caught his meaning. “And Luke?” she demanded. “What about Luke?”

                “The boy is coming with us,” Vader declared. The boy in question jerked backwards, freeing himself from Vader’s grasp. All the joy had drained out of his face, leaving him wide-eyed with betrayal.

                “But—but they’re my _family_!” Luke burst out. “This—is my home! We can’t…”

                “You swore to us,” Beru was hissing at Obi-Wan. She pointed and accusing finger at him. “You _swore_ to us that the Empire would never find him here. Now you’ve brought them down on our heads—to our _home_ …”

                “I am truly sorry,” Obi-Wan was saying, in that grieving, heartfelt way of his. “I didn’t—“

                “You’ve been filling Luke’s head with stories about his father behind our back!” Owen shouted at him. “You put him in danger! You—“

                Ahsoka took a cautious step forward. “I am truly sorry,” she said, with a gentleness Ezra hadn’t heard from her before. “But Obi-Wan is right. You are in danger now—and you can’t protect Luke from the people who would hurt him.” She refrained from looking up at Vader, but Ezra got the impression that in less dire circumstances, she might have.

                “What’s going on?” Luke asked. He looked even younger than usual, confused and more than a little scared. “Why would anyone be after me? What’s going to happen to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru?” Ahsoka’s face softened with pity.

                “We can drop you off at any space port you like,” she said, turning the couple. “Get off world. We can give you an escort and some credits—“

                “No escort,” Owen cut in. “We don’t want your _money_.” He looked around at all of them, eyes lingering on Vader. “So what, Anakin’ been who-knows-where for fifteen years, and now he wants Luke back? Who are you people, his friends? What makes you think you can keep him safe form the Empire, if Kenobi couldn’t?”

                “Lars,” Vader rumbled. Everyone present froze. Now the violence would resume—Vader would take his son just as he’d promised them so many times—

 “No harm will come to the boy,” he intoned, simply.

                Owen didn’t seem to realize just how close to disaster he’d come. “And I should just trust you at your word, when I don’t know you from—“

                “You have my _word_ ,” Vader cut him off, “in Anakin’s stead. No harm will come to this boy.”

                Ezra felt his mouth fell open. He felt Kanan’s shock tear across their bond, feeding into his own, in some kind of infinite feedback loop.

                _Is he_ not _going to tell him?_

                Vader, who had spent the entire trip talking about nothing but his son, obsessing over his image, ranting and raving and pleading –

                “Luke,” Beru’s voice cracked, “come here, sweetie.” She knelt down as Luke buried his face in her shoulder. “You have to be brave now,” she said, stroking his back. “Your Uncle and I—we’re going to be alright. You just—you have to take care of yourself now…”

                “But will I ever see you again?” Luke burst you, distraught. Beru put her hands on his shoulders, so she could look him straight in the eye.

                “I don’t know,” she told him, softly. “I don’t know. But you can’t look back, alright? Whatever happens...”

                “We don’t have time for sentiment,” Vader snapped. “We have to go _now_.” Luke looked back up at him, his eyes bright with tears. He swallowed hard, then nodded. Owen grabbed him, in a rough hug, before sending him towards Vader with a shove.

                “Will I least see my father?” Luke asked, miserably.

                Vader didn’t answer. He reached out with the tip of one gloved hand and, with a grace no one knew he possessed, brushed a tear from Luke’s cheek.

                Then he turned, abruptly, and began stalking back to the ship.

* * *

 

                Sidious considered what he had just learned. A mirror that reflected ones’ most ardent desire—it sounded like an artifact more at home in a Sith shrine than a Jedi Temple. 

                It was a more than reasonable explanation for his apprentice’s disappearance, truth be told. Vader’s discipline was severely lacking where his _heart_ was concerned. Nothing, not even the power that made him the most feared being in the Galaxy, could stop him from sulking over the loss of Amidala. It was _supremely_ irritating. How long had he tried to make his apprentice into a true Sith, only to see him lapse back into those tendencies not even the Jedi could stomp out? It was unlikely he’d learned his lesson, even when his foolish, childish _pining_ had made him weak enough to fall prey to a halfwit band of terrorists.

                Still…the premise was intriguing. The gears that made his mind the formidable machine that it was were turning, creaking with promise…

                “Tell me everything you know about this mirror,” he demanded of the long-dead Sith.

                “Spare no detail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to @izzythehutt for not only suggesting the Chopper-whispering scene, but for offering critique, listening to me whine and complain, and being an all around great pal :3 Check out her stuff http://archiveofourown.org/users/izzythehutt/pseuds/izzythehutt


	6. Chapter 6

Ezra didn’t think there could be anyone in the Galaxy more strange and unpredictable than Darth Vader—until he met his _son_.

                Ezra watched as he disappeared into the homestead with his Aunt and Uncle, off to collect his things and say more private goodbyes. Ahsoka waited only a second after he was gone before running to Vader, planting herself firmly in his path.    

                “What the hell was _that_?” she hissed, between clenched teeth. Vader half turned from her, but in a second she’d blocked his exit vector, once again planted firmly in front of him. She put her hand against his chest plate and _shoved_. Vader didn’t even sway, despite the strength Ezra knew Ahsoka possessed.

                “Answer me! What are you doing?” She demanded, her voice never rising above a half-whisper. “That’s your _kid_ in there and you didn’t tell him—“

                “I am _perfectly aware_ of who he is,” Vader cut her off with a strangled bellow, trying to keep his voice low but struggling with the vocoder.

                “You lied to him!”

                “No!” Vader slashed his hand through the air to punctuate his rebuttal. “I did not _lie_. I may speak for Skywalker when I choose to do so.”

                “That’s the flimsiest, most _feeble_ excuse I have ever—!” Ahsoka cut herself off, glaring up at Vader. “What kind of game are you playing with him?”

                Vader jabbed his finger in her face, coming within a hairsbreadth of stabbing her in the eye.  “This is not a game,” Vader hissed back at her. “This is my son’s _life_ —“

                Their heads snapped up as one. Obi-Wan, who had been steadily edging closer to the pair, froze.

                “I’m coming with you,” he said, staring determinedly at Vader. Of all the indignities the Sith had been forced to endure, this was one too many—the straw that broke the bantha’s back.

                He snapped.

                 Obi-Wan barely had time to bring his lightsaber up before Vader was upon him, trying to grab him by the throat. Obi-Wan’s blade scored the inside of Vader’s arm, causing the Sith to roar with pain with the tip dragged from prosthetic to flesh, but still he wasn’t deterred—

                Vader’s hand went to his throat in what must have been instinct, because he could only scrabble uselessly against the thick durasteel collar around his neck. He lashed out again, taking one last swipe at Obi-Wan before he fell forward in the sand. His respirator was making a harsh, choking noise—somehow so much worse than his usual raspy-but-steady breath. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened in alarm, and he looked at Ahsoka in alarm—only to see the remote in her hand.

                “Stay down!” she barked at Vader. The Sith made a weak swipe for her legs, but she jumped back easily—she thumbed the remote again and he sank lower, belly against his knees. His black cape pooled against the yellow sand, and this was wrong, this was just so wrong—

                “What are you doing to him?” Obi-Wan cried, his voice strained. He tried to go to Vader’s side but Ahsoka caught him around the chest, forcing him upright.

                “I need _both_ of you alive,” she growled at him. “Stop letting him get close!”

                Vader’s wheezing had a frantic edge to it now. His chest heaved, his hand frantically pawed at the loose sand for some kind of traction.

                “He’s gonna die!” Ezra found himself shouting. “He won’t— stop! Stop! You’re _killing_ him—!”

                Ahsoka relented. She looked down at Vader in a kind of dull surprise, taking a half-step back—as though she was seeing him for the first time. Vader didn’t raise his head, giving only one pitiful effort at getting back to his feet before devoting his energy entirely to regaining his breath.

                “What is _that_?” Obi-Wan ground out. His lightsaber was extinguished in his hand, but he gripped it so hard his knuckles were white.

                “I’ll explain on the ship,” Ahsoka told him, straightening herself.

                “Explain _now_.”

                Ezra imagined this was what it felt like to stand at the place where two tectonic plates met, the halves of a planet pushing and grinding against each other—threatening to shake the world apart. For a moment, Ahsoka’s eyes blazed with fury.

                “We needed a way to keep Vader down,” she finally answered him, icily. “A solution fell into our laps and we took it. We can talk details later. Do you need to pack?”

                For a moment, Ezra through he saw Obi-Wan’s hand over something hidden in the folds of his cloak. “I am ready to leave,” he said, still unnerved by what he’d seen. He drew closer to where Vader still knelt in the sand, shuddering, and reached out his hand—

                Something blew past Ezra, like a furious dirt devil. Luke threw his knapsack down and slid to Vader’s side, crouching down beside the Sith before anyone could stop him. “What happened?” he asked, frantically. “Are you OK?”

                The surge of emotions that rolled off Vader was almost unbearable. Rage, as hot and fierce as it had been when they first encountered him in the cave with the mirror—and just as deadly. The invisible tendrils of Vader’s rage lashed invisibly, seeking something to destroy, something to raze, all the while driven by that fleeting shadow beneath the fury, dark and roiling and painful. Vader but his hand against Luke’s chest, and for a moment Ezra’s heart stopped—there was no way any of them would get to the boy in time.

                _His own son_ , he thought. It wasn’t like Vader hadn’t given him plenty of opportunities to be shocked and appalled, but somehow, suspended in the horror of that moment, that one thought was the only thing running through his head. _Even his son--!_

                But the violence he feared didn’t come to pass. Vader, with an almost visible effort, pushed gently against Luke’s chest, causing him to take a half-step back, but doing no damage. Slowly, unbelievably, the snapping tendrils of Vader’s rage withdrew, retracting back— _away_ from the hapless boy.

                “You’re hurt!” Luke exclaimed. The kid grabbed Vader’s arm, turning it over so the exposed circuitry and still-smoking lightaber burn was visible. He ran his finger through the gash in Vader’s prosthetic , his eyes widening in wonder.

                Ezra looked up at Kanan, to confirm this was actually happening. What was _wrong_ with this kid? He glowed in the Force, crackling with unleashed potential, but he seemed totally oblivious to the clear mortal peril he was placing himself in. He may as well have stuck his head in a nexu’s mouth! Either he had absolutely no training, and couldn’t sense anything—or he just didn’t _care_.

                Suddenly, Luke’s face fell. “Did the stormtroopers do this?” he asked, sadly. He looked up into Vader’s mask, almost forlorn. “Did you get hurt…because they came after me?”

                Vader snatched his arm from Luke’s grasp, pulling his fist to his chest as though he’d been burned. “ _No_ ,” he snapped, placing his other hand against the ground and hauling himself to his feet. Sand fell from the crevices in his arm and the folds in his cape, the hiss of falling grains filling the silence.

                “It-- was not because of anything you did,” he amended, seeing Luke’s surprised hurt. “It is of no consequence. I would endure a thousand such blows if—“ he cut himself off, abruptly. “If it was necessary in the course of my duty,” he finished, lamely.

                Luke stared up at him, eyes shining with awe. “Did—do you know my father?” he asked, quietly. “Did he send you to protect me?”  

                Obi-Wan chose that moment to intervene, coming up behind Luke and putting a careful hand on his shoulder. Vader visibly bristled at the imposition, but stayed silent, only able to clench his fists.

                “Are you ready to go, Luke?” Obi-Wan asked, quietly. Luke nodded in excitement, reaching down to grab his backpack again. For the first time, Luke seemed to notice there were more people than Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi. He took a step towards Ahsoka, almost shyly.

                “So this is your ship?” he asked. Ahsoka cracked a smile at that.

                “I’m afraid not,” she said, gently, “but you’ll get to meet the captain soon enough. My name’s Ahsoka Tano,” she glanced over Luke’s shoulder, warily, before continuing. “Me and Obi-Wan go way back.”

                “So you’re Jedi!” Luke exclaimed. Ahsoka nodded, enchanted despite herself.

                “Yep. So is Kanan,” she jerked her thumb back at the silent Jedi, who gave a mock salute, “and his padawan, Ezra.” Ezra waved, feeling stupid—but he had no idea what to say. “They’re crew members on the _Ghost_.” 

                “The Ghost,” Luke repeated, trying the name out.

                “Come on,” Kanan said, unable to stop his own grin. There was something about Luke that made it impossible to be wary of him, son of Darth Vader or no. “I’ll give you a tour.”

                Luke ran past Ahsoka, his trepidation and anguish over leaving his only home forgotten. Ahsoka watched him go, and the gentle smile slid off her face. She turned to Vader and pulled the set of shock-cuffs off her belt, her expression grim once again.

                “Give me your hands,” she demanded, her voice pitched low but still commanding. Vader looked down, considering, then back to her face.

                He didn’t move.

                “Don’t play games, _Vader_ ,” Ahsoka hissed. She shook the cuffs. “You can walk onto the ship or you can crawl,” she said, meaningfully—she didn’t have to indicate the remote. Slowly, petulantly, Vader held out his wrists—

                “What are you doing that for?” Ezra turned, startled. Luke was paused at the entrance to the landing ramp, his brow furrowed.

                No one answered.

                Luke pulled away from Kanan, frowning. “He—helped us,” Luke said. “I saw him jump on the stormtroopers.”

                “Luke…” Ahsoka hesitated. “Vader… is dangerous. I can explain—“

                “He doesn’t _seem_ very dangerous,” Luke said, firmly. “And he’s _hurt_.”

                “Look,” Kanan said, using his best Jedi Master voice (the one that usually worked on Ezra), “the thing is—“

                “Someone needs to look at his arm,” Luke said, with a kind of deep-set conviction Ezra wouldn’t have thought he was capable of earlier. The contrast between starry-eyed farmboy and resolute, unmovable teen was astonishing.

                _Maybe he’s Vader’s kid after all_.

                “It is true,” Obi-Wan chimed in, carefully. He shot a sideways look at Vader, who said nothing. “Perhaps—I could keep an eye on- Vader—to unsure that nothing… _untoward_ happens?”

                “That’s not a good idea,” Ahsoka started, but Luke said “There! See?” at the same time, beaming with pleasure at the solution.

                She didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

                “If Vader will actually behave himself…?” she asked, the unspoken threat clear in her voice. Vader only grunted in response, but Ezra felt his rage—and that same roiling emotion behind it—

                Shame.

                There was only the barest hint of it, a curl of effervescent emotion before Vader clamped down on his shields, but it was there—eating away at him like battery acid in his guts. He’d told Vader right to his face how pathetic he was—how pathetic his whole situation was—but he’d never dreamed the Sith might actually feel similarly.

                Vader was a Sith Lord. Being humiliated in front of his son was the very least he deserved. It shouldn’t have bothered Ezra.

                _But still_ …

                The roof hatch on the Ghost popped open, and Sabine stuck her head out.

                “What is taking so long?” she yelled, tossing her hair. “We’ve been on this planet for half a standard hour and I’m already sick of it!”

* * *

 

                Hera, who was the closest thing they had to a diplomatic envoy, managed to keep her cool when meeting Obi-Wan—but only just. Those who knew her could see her lekku twitching with nervous, excited energy.

                “General,” she said, eyes shining, “it’s an honor to have you onboard my ship.”

                Obi-Wan smiled back indulgently, inclining his head. “The honor is all mine, Captain Syndulla. Though I’m afraid I haven’t been a general for a long time—a _very_ long time, now…” His glance flicked sideways, towards Vader, almost too quickly to follow. Vader, for his part, gave a noise that sounded like a snort and looked away.

                “And this must be Luke Skywalker,” she said, warmly. “Welcome aboard.” Luke beamed happily.

                “Is this a VCX model?” he asked, excitedly. “It looks like some of the Corellian freighters I’ve seen flying over Anchorhead but I wasn’t sure…”

                “You’ve got a good eye,” Hera said, approvingly. “VCX-100, but she’s custom—why don’t you let Ezra show you around, and once you’re settled in I can give you a tour of all the modifications?”

                Luke’s eyes lit up at that, but they dimmed suddenly when he thought of something. He turned, craning his head up to look at Vader. Vader angled his mask downwards, attention drawn back to the conversation.

                “Vader is hurt,” Luke said. “Someone needs to look at him—“

                “Someone will,” Hera assured him. “You don’t need to—“

                “She is correct, young one,” Vader rumbled. Sabine mouthed _young one_ to herself, but no one dared comment aloud on their shared disbelief. “Do not concern yourself. Go—explore.”

                “Are you sure?” Luke asked. Somehow, he was genuinely concerned that the towering cyborg warlord would come to harm without a teenager to look after him. It was a kind of naiveté that was fantastically rare in the Galaxy these days.

                 Vader reached over with his non-injured arm and nudged him.

                “I am certain,” he replied, but his voice sounded strained. “Go on.”

                Luke seemed to weigh his options, then nodded. He was already peppering Ezra with questions before they disappeared into the heart of the Ghost.

                Vader turned on the remaining crew. “If any harm comes to him aboard this deathtrap you call a vessel,” he hissed, any hint of warmth gone and replaced with that familiar, seething fury, “I will _break_ you—each one of you. _Slowly_.”

                “Calm down,” Ahsoka snapped, “we’ve been over this before. No one is going to hurt him.”

                “Any harm at all,” Vader reiterated, “anything—I will find your family, anyone you’ve ever loved, and I will kill _every last one_ of them—“

                “You already did _that_ ,” Hera answered him, equally as cold. “Or the Empire did-- For all of us.”

                Vader didn’t miss a beat. “Then I will find new ways to motivate you,”  he rumbled, menacingly. “You _will_ be held accountable for his safety.” Hera blanched with fury, but Ahsoka put a hand on her arm.

                “We’re not the Empire,” she said, firmly. “The only one who will pay for your crimes is you.”

                Vader made a harsh noise in his vocoder, but Ahsoka swore she saw his shoulders relax—just a fraction, barely visible beneath his pauldron, but it was there. She looked over to Obi-Wan, who’d been suspiciously silent for the entire encounter. He was watching Vader, closely, with an expression that was dangerously close to hope.

 _Vader doesn’t love that kid_ , she thought, darkly. _He isn’t_ capable _of it_. If Obi-Wan let himself be fooled— _again_ — then they might as well have left him behind, for all the good he would do.

                Her mind strayed treacherously, back to Vader on the table in the makeshift surgery on the now-destroyed Rebel base.  _Alive?_ He’d asked her, as if he hadn’t dared to hope; his touch on her mind was light enough to be almost imperceptible--

                  “Captain,” she said, breaking the silence. “Get us off-planet—I’ll contact command for the rendezvous coordinates.”

                “What about Vader’s arm?” Hera asked. “We promised Luke.” Ahsoka could at least take comfort in the fact that she didn’t invoke any kind of prisoner’s rights statutes this time.

                “Your intervention is unnecessary,” Vader announced. “Your droid will suffice.”

                “Chopper?” Hera looked appalled. “Chopper’s not a med droid!”

                “A point in his favor,” Vader muttered. “The C1 models come with an adequate array of tools. His assistance is all I will require.”

                “Your prosthetic is wrecked and you have a lightsaber burn at least half an inch—“

                “I said,” Vader cut her off, “that is _all_ I will require.”

                “I will be present as well, as per my end of the bargain,” Obi-Wan chimed in, pleasantly. This was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Vader swung his attention to his former master, the lenses of his mask locked on the man’s heavily lined face.

                “So you can _gloat_ over your _handiwork_?” Vader hissed. The silence that followed was so complete, Ahsoka could hear the creak of his gloves as he balled his hands into fists. Obi-Wan was taken aback by the accusation, or maybe just the sheer malice in Vader’s words. His eyes widened, but he quickly regained control of yourself.

                “Because I promised Luke I would,” Obi-Wan replied, finally. His voice was soft, and the familiar sadness resettled on his shoulders, all the heavier for his brief respite.

                “This is not the end of it, Kenobi,” Vader spat. “You’ll pay for everything you took from me—I will be _free_ from this, soon enough, and I will paint the walls of this ship with your—“

                “Sabine,” Ahsoka turned, as if Vader’s meticulously detailed threats of violence were beneath her, “how are you with more delicate circuitry?”

                Sabine waggled her hand back and forth, in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “If his arm’s anything like the legs on a walker, then sure. Maybe.”

                “I do not need the assistance of your _child_ —“ Vader started, but Ahsoka continued to ignore him.

                “Kanan, you remember anything Master Bilaba taught you about field medicine?”

                “ _No_ —“                

                “Too bad. Start remembering,” she pressed the remote into his hands. “And make sure Vader behaves himself. Then you can show Master Kenobi to his quarters.”

* * *

 

                For a while, it looked like Ezra really might get lucky—Luke peppered him with questions about the technical specs of the ship, what planets he’d been to, whether or not he got to actually _fly_ —or use the big guns! They fell into an easy sense of comradery, Luke perfectly happen to listen thoughtfully and share his own stories by turns.

                He hesitated for a moment, looking down meaningfully at the lightsaber clipped to Ezra’s belt. “Are you really a Jedi?” he asked, almost reverently.

                “Not just yet,” Ezra admitted. “I’m still just a padawan—a learner.” Luke nodded, still watching him with rapt admiration. “I’ll be a Jedi when Kanan’s taught me everything he knows, like Ahsoka.”

                “Like my father,” Luke said, after a thoughtful silence. “Do you—know him?”

                _Do I ever_ , Ezra thought, cringing internally. This was exactly the kind of conversation he was hoping to avoid. He felt an irrational surge of anger at Vader for putting him in this position—or maybe it was just righteous indignation at fate or the Force or whoever for putting Luke Skywalker, hapless farmboy, at the center of the Galaxy’s biggest holodrama.

                “No,” he lied, easily. “I uh—I only just joined up with the Rebellion.” It wasn’t _really_ a lie—he’d never met the man known as Anakin Skywalker. And he couldn’t say he knew much of Vader, either.

                Those thoughts didn’t bring any relief to his uneasy conscience.

                Luke’s face fell, and he huffed, disappointed. “Ben said he would come for me!” He scuffed a foot against the floor, scowling. “I don’t understand—why isn’t he _here_?” He looked back up at Ezra, and flushed—embarrassed to have been caught whining.

                “I didn’t meant to—“ he started, then threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. “It’s just that…I thought my parents were dead. I don’t know anything about them. I don’t have _anything_ of theirs. Then Obi-Wan said they found my father _still alive_ and…” his blue eyes glittered beneath a thatch of blond hair. “I just want to _know_ him, you know?”

                Ezra’s throat felt tight. “I do,” he said, quietly. “Kind of.” He immediately wished he hadn’t because Luke was watching him, expectantly, and he didn’t really want to bring this up again—

                “My parents _are_ dead,” he blurted out. “They—they were taken by the Empire when I was just a kid.”

                “Oh.” Luke flushed again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

                “No!” This was getting out of hand. “You didn’t—for a while I didn’t know—I thought they could have been alive somewhere—and I wanted, more than anything, to…”

                He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. They stood for a moment, in silent reflection.

                “Do you know why the Empire would take them?” Luke asked, quietly. The question was inane enough to snap Ezra out of his brooding.

                “Because that’s what the Empire _does_ —bring terror and fear, and cut down anyone who tries to fight back.” He snorted. Luke took a half step back.

                “I didn’t know. The Empire doesn’t really come out to Tatooine,” he said. “The smugglers and the spice runners hate the Empire because they’ll put them in jail if they get caught, and Uncle Owen…” he paused, swallowing, as if remembering all he’d left behind, before pressing on: “Uncle Owen is mad that they won’t do anything about the Hutts…but he say the Republic didn’t care about the farmers, either, so it doesn’t make a difference.”

                “The Republic was _way_ better than the Empire,” Ezra declared, with all the confidence of someone who had been alive for only a few hours before it was gone. “That’s why we fight for the Rebellion—to bring back democracy, and let people decide what’s best for the Galaxy. We’ve all lost something at the hands of the Empire—Kanan, Hera, Sabine, Zeb…”

                “And Vader,” Luke added, after a brief pause. Ezra winced before he could stop himself, praying Luke wouldn’t notice.

                No such luck. 

                “You don’t like him,” Luke said, folding his arms across his chest. “None of you do.”

                “No,” he admitted. “We—we don’t.”

                “Why not?”

                What was he supposed to say? For whatever crazy reason, everyone—even Ahsoka!-- seemed ready to keep Vader’s secret and keep _lying_ to his kid. Ezra had no idea what he should or shouldn’t say—he didn’t even want to have this conversation in the first place.

                “He’s dangerous,” Ezra answered, slowly. “Just like Ahsoka said. We have to be careful around him—“

                “He doesn’t _seem_ dangerous,” Luke echoed his earlier sentiment.

                “How does he _not_ seem dangerous?!” Ezra shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. “He’s _Darth Vader_! He—did you not _see_ him?”

                Luke’s expression hardened, but he didn’t reply. He just waited, his blue eyes narrowed in determination.

                “You’ve been here for ten minutes,” Ezra finally replied, with a waspish non-answer. “You don’t know him at all. Why would you take _his_ side?”

                “He was hurt protecting me,” Luke refused to give so much as an inch. “I saw him fighting the storm troopers. But you treat him like—like he’s not even on your side!”

                “Because he’s not!” Luke’s eyes widened in disbelief. _Oh, kriff_ —“I mean—things with Vader are more complicated than you realize,” Ezra amended, hastily.

                “Then explain it to me,” Luke demanded. “It’s not like we’re not going anywhere!”

                Ezra rubbed his eyelids, desperately searching for some way out of this. “Vader…” he hesitated, before plowing forwards “Vader used to be with the Empire.”

                 “Like the people who took your parents?” Luke asked, softening but not relenting. Ezra winced again—the farmboy could really twist the knife when he wanted to.

                “Exactly like them,” he muttered. “Look, he…he’s done some things in his past, for the Empire—really terrible things.”

                There was a brief silence as Luke took this information, chewing it over carefully. “But he’s with you now,” Luke pointed out, slowly. “He left the Empire to join the Rebellion—doesn’t that count for something?”

                Ezra could have kicked himself. He had definitely managed to imply that—and it was definitely, _definitely_ not true. Vader hadn’t _joined_ them so much as contented himself with waiting for his chance to murder them all in their bunks. But he couldn’t backtrack now—if he did, Luke might start asking questions about the nature of their control over Vader, and his willingness to go along with them—neither issues he was ready to discuss. He didn’t even really know how he felt about some of the things he’d witnessed over their four days in hyperspace—

                Truth be told, he was furious—at himself for getting into this mess, but also at Vader, for being a liar and somehow making _him_ a liar as well.

                “We have history,” he offered up, “Vader—the things he’s done—that doesn’t just go away because he’s…on a different course now.”

                “You don’t think people can change?” Luke asked, pointedly.

                “Not people like _Darth Vader_ ,” Ezra replied. “You seriously haven’t heard of him?”

                Luke shook his head. “No,” he said, sharply. “We don’t get a lot of news from the Core out on Tatooine. But that doesn’t make me _stupid_.”

                “I didn’t mean—“

                Luke shook his head. “I know you didn’t—but you kind of did.” He released a long breath, nostrils flaring. “I know right and I know wrong. I think it’s wrong to be unkind to someone who’s trying to be better.”

                The idea that Vader was “trying to be better” was totally ludicrous—it was beyond a fever dream and into the realm of total disconnect from reality. But he couldn’t explain that to Luke—it would already be bad enough when he _did_ find out the truth about his father. Ezra didn’t need to add to that upcoming catastrophe.

                “You can believe what you want,” he finally said, gingerly. “But you need to be careful. Vader—he is dangerous. If you get too close…” Ezra shrugged. “You might get caught up in the crossfire. He might hurt you.”

                Luke shook his head. “No,” he answered, immediately. “He won’t. I know that for certain.”

                “How?”

                Ezra thought he felt something, a movement in the Force—like the rumble and grinding of the Temple emerging from the mountains on Lothal.

                “I just do,” was all Luke offered, with a note of steel in his voice.

* * *

 

                Sabine let out a low whistle. “I don’t know if I can help you with this, Darth. This is Clone Wars tech— _ancient_.”

                “Fifteen years is hardly _ancient_ ,” Vader snapped, and Kanan nodded In agreement- before remembering, to his disgust, just _who_ it was he was agreeing with.

                “We’re old men in the eyes of the youth,” Obi-Wan remarked, with that light, false pleasantness of his.

                “Shut up,” Vader snapped. He tried to curl his fist, reflexively, but the movement disturbed the long burn on his arm and his destroyed cybernetics—his prosthetic threw sparks, and he wasn’t able to suppress a slight wince.

                “Woah! Cut that out!” Sabine ordered. Vader made a harsh, frustrated noise in the back of his throat.  His glove was gone, with the full length of his cybernetic limb exposed, and the raw flesh of his wound was visible in the tear on his suit.

                “First things first, we’d better clean that out—if Kanan wants to do his job?”

                Kanan did not. He folded his arms across his chest and glared.   

                “Great. OK. Just me, then,” Sabine muttered. She had an array of medical supplies before them—mismatched, the leftovers of untold ‘found’ or ‘salvaged’ medkits, but perfectly serviceable. She readied a hypospray and a sterile wipe, clearly trying to delay the inevitable.

                Vader was as receptive to the rebels’ aid as he was to their blaster fire. He tensed visibly as Sabine slowly peeled back the neatly sliced halves of his suit, rolling the synthleather back to his shoulder and clamping it into place. She and Kanan had seen Vader’s scars before, but not this close—they could now see every detail of the thick, mottled ring of tissue where his prosthetic met his remaining organic arm, and the stark white, waxy burns that covered the rest of his body.

                But Obi-Wan blanched. He started, then glanced up in horror at Vader’s mask—which was determinedly pointed away from him. He reached out, as if magnetically drawn, to touch the ragged flesh—

                Obi-Wan’s fingers barely brushed Vader’s arm, but something crackled in the air—harsh and sharp, like an arc of electricity—and Vader drew away sharply, clutching his injured arm to his chest.

                “Do not _touch_ me,” he snapped, furious—and genuinely shocked. “What—what game are you playing, Kenobi?”

                But Obi-Wan didn’t answer. “Fifteen years,” he said, slowly, “and you haven’t—“ he gestured to Vader’s arm. “It really is the same model form the end of the _Clone Wars_?”

                “Uhm—can I just—“ Sabine tried, hesitantly, but neither Obi-Wan nor Vader was paying attention to her.

                “It hardly matters,” Vader growled.

                Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I think it does. This can’t have been—efficient, to keep. Surely it slows you down?”

                Vader scoffed. “It matters very little, old man. I don’t _need_ anything else to _end you_ —“

                “ _Anakin_ \--,” Obi-Wan, started, with genuine and familiar exasperation, before stopping himself cold. He realized the magnitude of the line he’d crossed— _again_ \-- but the damage was done. Vader’s good arm shot out, faster than Sabine could follow, and his fist collided with Obi-Wan’s cheek.

                “How dare you?” Vader hissed, furiously. “How—what would make you presume—to keep using that name, after—“

                Kanan surged to his feet, remote in one hand, his lightsaber in the other. But Obi-Wan motioned him away, the other hand gingerly touching the injured side of his face. “There’s no need for that,” he said, softly. “I—suppose I deserved it.”

                “More than _that_ , Kenobi,” Vader ground out. “You will pay for what you took from me more than a thousand times over before I am finished with you.”

                “Good kriffing gods! Would you sit still for five seconds?” Sabine shouted, beyond frustrated. “Can you not wait until you’re in one piece before you try and kill us all again?”

                Vader rounded on her, ready to lash out once more, but the movement in his arm made it spark again, and this time he let out a short, sharp cry.

                “You’ll lose everything up to the shoulder if you don’t stop acting like a baby,” Sabine snapped. “Hold _still_.”

                Vader’s vocoder made a garbled noise that could have been a snarl, but he let Sabine work. Even by amateur standards her work was sloppy, but she wanted to minimize her time in close proximity to the greatest butcher of recent galactic history—and she got the distinct impression he felt the same way. With the flesh wound wrapped and dealt with, she moved onto the arduous task of repairing the ancient circuitry that made up the prosthetic half of his limb.

                “I am perfectly capable of dealing with this myself,” Vader protested, as Sabine sparked her multitool, causing the solder on the end to hiss and smoke. She ignored him, using her free hand to lower her goggles into place.

                “Don’t squirm,” she said, trying not to think about just how close she was to the Rebellion’s Most Wanted. She’d scooted her crate as close as she could, but she had to lean over the table to get a clear view of what she was dealing with. Vader immediately craned his head, trying to watch what was happening.

                “Let her work, Vader,” Kanan admonished, breaking his silence. “You weren’t going to get anything done one-handed.”

                “It’s likely I’ll be repairing this… _work_ in the future,” Vader shot back, flippantly. “One handed—perhaps blindfolded,” he added, angling his mask sideways, “so that I don’t have to see the results of your clumsy—“

                Vader ‘s smug tirade ended in a hiss of pain. “Oops, sorry,” Sabine didn’t sound terribly apologetic at all: “My hand slipped.”

                Vader jerked his arm back, out of her arm. “Hold still!” Sabine commanded, frustration boiling over. “I’m almost _done_ —this can all be over if you just—“

                But it seemed as though Vader’s limited patience had finally run out. He pulled back, his good hand covering the small mark where Sabine had singed his flesh. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

                “Easy now,” Obi-Wan said, as gently as he could. Sabine held her breath, but Vader didn’t lash out this time. He froze, sitting rigidly beneath the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand.

                “Master Kenobi—“ Kanan started, warily, but Obi-Wan had already taken Vader’s arm in both of his hands. He could feel something in the Force, a pressure that made his teeth ache-- like a storm rolling in.

                “This looks like it hurts,” Obi-Wan said, almost to himself. The ever-present sadness behind his eyes was heavy in his words.

                “Gloating does not suit you, old man,” Vader groused, having found his voice again.

                Obi-Wan looked up, meeting the unblinking stare of Vader’s mask. “How could you ever think I meant that?” he asked, looking pained. “Do you really believe I wanted _this_?”

                For a moment, Vader hesitated. It was a bizarre thing to witness—Vader charged in to everything he did head first, always sure of himself, never doubting that he would jump onto anything but solid ground. But now he tilted his mask upwards, as if he was actually considering the sincerity of Obi-Wan’s words—

                But just as quickly, the spell was broken. Vader slammed into Obi-Wan shoulder first, knocking his former master away and snatching his arm from his grasp.

                “Lay your hands on me again and I will take them,” he snarled. Kenobi backed off, accepting defeat with a pained grimace. Sabine glanced over at Kanan, who looked—strangely perturbed.

                “Finish this,” Vader demanded, shoving his arm towards her again. “If you _insist_ on carrying out this task, then at least be timely.”

                “It’s not like we’re having a great time either, Darth,” she muttered, but set back to work.

* * *

 

                 Ahsoka smiled despite herself. Luke Skywalker was so many things—he came into this world as a living reminder that her —her _former master_ had kept so much from her, had perhaps never been the man she so trusted and idolized as a padawan. Even now there was something about him that was painful to look at, a dark cloud that hung over his radiance in the Force. 

                But she wasn’t about to blame a child for the circumstances of his birth, and Luke’s light was more than bright enough to burn away the lingering shadow of Vader. She felt his presence hovering just outside her door, cautious reverence and curiosity warring with each other.

                “What’s on your mind, hotshot?” she asked, without turning around.

                “How’d you know I was here?”

                “The Force reveals many things to us that might otherwise be hidden,” she intoned, mysteriously. She turned to face Luke, so he could see her smile. “I also had to develop a kind of sixth-sense to know when there are Skywalkers around—so I can be ready for the trouble that follows them.”

                “You knew my father!” Luke said, excitedly. “Did you fight with him and Obi-Wan in the Clone Wars?”

                Ahsoka’s smile dimmed, and she fought to keep it from disappearing altogether. “As a matter of fact,” she said, her voice much softer, “I did.”

                Luke noticed her unease and hesitated, playing with the edge of his tunic. “You know, Obi-Wan gets the same way when he talks about the war,” he said. “Sad. Far-away.”

                Ahsoka nodded. “We both lost things,” she answered, simply. They had all changed in the years since she’d left the Order, but she was still taken aback every time she saw the sad, broken expression the famed General Kenobi wore these days.

                “I shouldn’t bother you then,” Luke said, dutifully. “I’ll just—“

                “Please.” She crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You’ve taken the first step on a journey that will take you far from your home. I know how difficult that can be.”  She placed two fingers under his chin and gently lifted his face so their eyes met. He had Anakins’ eyes, certainly, but there was a clarity and brilliance to them that she’d never seen in her former Master. There were no shadows, no doubts lingering in Luke’s heart—he looked like he trusted the whole Galaxy to love him the way he loved it.

                She knew—she had known, from the instance she saw Luke’s fumbling, rambling holo message, that she was protect the innocence of Anakin’s son with every breath in her body.

                “I want you to feel free to ask me anything,” she said, releasing Luke’s chin. “Anything at all.”

                  Luke nodded. “Where are we going now?” he started.

                “To meet back up with the rest of the Rebellion,” Ahsoka answered. “We’re taking a more roundabout way, to ensure we aren’t followed, but we’re headed to the Caamas system-- close to Alderaan.”

                “Alderaan! That’s practically the Core!” Luke almost hummed with excitement. “Aren’t we taking a risk, going that near Imperial Center?”

                They were. But it was riskier to have Bail travelling too far from the Senate or his palace on Aldera. No need to give the ISB any more reasons to investigate the Rebellion’s biggest bankroller. “It is dicey—which is why we’re counting on the Imps not expecting us to hide right under their noses,” she said, tweaking Luke’s. He pulled away, snorting.

                “The whole Rebellion will be there?”

                “Not all of us. It’s too dangerous for us to gather in one place right now.”

                Luke hesitated, rocking on the balls of his feet. “But my father will be there,” he asked, “won’t he?”

                Ah. She should have expected Luke wouldn’t let up that line of questioning. It was true—once the Ghost arrived, Lukes’ father _would_ be present.

                And yet…

                “Can you tell me about him?” Luke asked, and Ahsoka tried to suppress a wince. “Or about the end of the war, and how he was captured? Ezra said you might know better than him.”

                Ezra. Ahsoka was tempted to be angry at the padawan for passing the responsibility for this conversation to her, and yet—she had no right. 

                “Your father and I parted ways before the end of the Clone Wars,” she replied, smoothly. “I haven’t seen him since then. I’m afraid I don’t really know what happened,” mercifully, none of this was actually a lie at all. Luke’s face fell all the same.

                “But I can tell you this,” she went on, quickly. “You look just like him—when I first met him, his hair was cut short, just like yours. Same eyes, same chin—“ Luke grinned widely at that.                                 

                “But what’s he _like_?” he pressed.

                Ahsoka took a breath, reaching into the Force for the words to say.

                “When I knew your father,” she started, quietly, “he was the best pilot in the Jedi Order—maybe in the whole Galaxy, and he knew it too. He was cocky, brash, stupid…” she shook her head, smiling inadvertently at the flood of memories. “But he was also the bravest man I knew. Kind, caring—selfless to a fault. He was the—most _powerful_ warrior the Order had.” She’d wanted to say ‘best’, but the dark armored warlord sitting in the cargo hold was evidence that Anakin had never overcome his flaws as a Jedi.  

                “He sounds so amazing,” Luke said, reverently, but something must have occurred to him, and the smile faded from his face. “Do you think—I mean, I’m just a farmboy, I’ve never even been off planet before and—“

                “Stop right there,” Ahsoka cut him off, perhaps a little more sternly than she meant to. “I don’t want to hear another word of that, understand?” Luke’s mouth snapped shut.

                “Your father—“ she started, then faltered. Could she really do this? Luke stared up at her, so naïve and trusting. She could only hurt him by doing this. When he learned the truth…

                “Your father thinks you hung the moons and the stars,” she said, quietly. “There’s nothing you could do that would make him not proud of you, Luke.” And that much had to be true—if it wasn’t, then this whole expedition would have been for nothing.

               That, and she’d beat Vader to death with the butt of her lightsaber if he so much as _breathed_ too harshly in Luke’s direction.

               “Really?” he asked, his voice quavering.

               “Would I lie to you?” She asked, grinning, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Luke beamed up at her and she felt like a fraud.

               “Have you been to the cockpit?” she asked, quickly changing the subject. “We’ll revert to realspace soon, I’m sure you’d like to watch Hera reprogram the navcomp.”

               “Definitely!” Luke grinned, and moved aside to let her pass.  Ahsoka walked into the hallway, Luke trailing her, but was forced to come to an immediate halt.

                Blocking her way to the cockpit was the last person in the world she wanted to see, trailed by Obi-Wan— also not someone she held in high regard at the moment. Clearly, the repairs to Vader’s arm had only just be finished—he was rotating his wrist, touching each finger to his thumb and muttering something about “sloppy workmanship”.

               His head jerked up and he came to a halt, staring at her and Luke. For a long, awkward moment, no one spoke.

               “Vader,” Ahsoka said, coldly. “Let us pass.” Vader shifted, almost imperceptibly, mask angled down at Ahsoka as if daring her to comment.

               “Wait,” Obi-Wan and Ahsoka both glanced down at Luke in surprise. He walked right up to Vader, who tensed visibly.

               “I just wanted to thank you again,” Luke said, with a pointed look at Ahsoka, “for helping protect me.” Vader said nothing. There was a long, dragging pause.

               “Did you get your arm all fixed?” Luke pushed.

               “Yes,” Vader answered, curtly.

               “And it’s working fine now?”

               “Yes.”

               “Oh. Well…that’s good,” Luke said, somewhat deflated—but undeterred. “I um—I saw you’ve got a cybernetic arm. That’s pretty wizard. There was a guy in Anchorhead who had one, and I wanted to get a closer look but Uncle Owen said it wasn’t polite and—“

               “So you are ignoring your uncle’s words because you wish to see mine?” Vader boomed. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka both stepped forward as one.

               “Yes?” Luke answered, tentatively. Then, to Ahsoka’s astonishment, Vader _considered_ , then reached over and peeled his newly-repaired glove off in one smooth motion. He held his hand out to Luke, palm facing upwards.

               “Wow!” Luke breathed, and Ahsoka felt her heart stop when he grabbed Vader’s hand in both of his to pull it closer. The Sith tensed, and she felt his _shock-rage-indignation_ echo in the Force—

               But he remained there, quiet and surly, while Luke examined the proffered hand.

               “These servomotors are so delicate,” he said, happily. “I can see where you need a replacement, though—right here, behind the third knuckle. Will you get one of those when we meet up with the rest of the fleet? Oh—I can never get my repairs to look this neat, my multitool always starts to spit when I want to lay down a really fine line of—“

               “You are using the Antex model,” Vader interrupted. “They are of poor quality, though hardier than others—perhaps why you still have one in your possession forty-five years after the manufacturer shut down.”

               “How did you know?” Luke gasped, happily surprised. “It’s the only brand that won’t overheat if you have to work under both suns at noon! Are you a mechanic or something?”

               “One’s work is only as good as one’s tools,” Vader replied, cryptically. Luke didn’t seem to notice. He was a fountain of questions regarding the upkeep and maintenance of Vader’s arm, most of which went unanswered or garnered only a yes or no response.

               “So—are you going to do a spacewalk, or something?” Luke asked, changing directions. Vader titled his head to the side, perplexed by this line of questioning.

               “I mean—you haven’t taken your suit off yet,” he pointed out. Vader’s hand curled into a fist, and he withdrew from Luke’s grasp.

               “It is not possible to do so,” he said, curtly. Luke looked deeply concerned.

               “You mean you can’t get out?”

               Ahsoka almost choked. Luke had a real gift for saying precisely the wrong the—and the fact that he genuinely meant nothing by it made the impact that much greater. The Dark Side was almost suffocating, and there was nothing to hold Vader back from unleashing weeks of fury at his captivity—

               Vader tuned, and in a flash of swirling black cape stalked down the hallway without so much as a word.

               “I—sorry!” Luke called after him. “I didn’t mean to—“

               “It’s been a long day,” Obi-Wan said, quickly catching Luke by the shoulder and holding him back. “I’ll go after him. Let’s—talk later.” He gave Luke a gentle squeeze before setting off after his captive.

               “Don’t worry about it, Luke,” Ahsoka said, quietly. “Vader—“ she struggled, trying to find some way out of this mess that wouldn’t lead to yet another. “He’s just…” _He’s a murderer and a traitor and you deserve better_ , she thought, but couldn’t say.

               “That’s just the way he is.”

               Luke chewed on his bottom lip, eyes downcast. “He _wants_ to talk to me,” he said, finally.

               “You don’t have to,” Ahsoka assured him, quickly.

               “He helped save me from the Empire,” Luke looked up at her with an expression too firm to be called a pout.

                “You don’t owe him for that,” Ahsoka reprimanded. “You aren’t obligated to—have anything to do with him, if you don’t want to.”

               Luke raised an eyebrow and fixed her with an incredulous look—Ahsoka had an eerie feeling she was being confronted with yet another ghost from her past.

               “If you all don’t like or trust Vader,” Luke asked, “then what’s he doing here?”

               It was more than a fair question. Ahsoka winced internally.

               “He’s too dangerous to be left anywhere else,” she answered, as honestly as she could.

               Luke paused, turning her words over in his mind. “You think that if you weren’t watching him,” he said, slowly, “he’d go back to the Empire.”

               Ahsoka made a mental note to ask Ezra what the hell he was thinking, and coordinate with her team so they could keep their story straight. “Yes,” she answered, simply. “He likes us about as much as we like him.”

               “Except me,” Luke said, pointedly. “Why _me_?”

               Ahsoka reached out and smoothed Luke’s fringe out of his eyes, smiling sadly.

               “I think you remind him of someone he knew a long time ago,” she said.

               “Who?”

               Ahsoka considered for a moment, then made a decision. “Come with me,” she said, “I think Hera might be able to show you better than I could explain.”

* * *

 

               Obi-Wan found himself chasing after Vader at something close to a trot, unable to match the Sith’s long strides. He was struck but just how surreal this situation was—after years of hiding from him, untold sleepless nights spent watching the skies, expecting to see an Imperial cruiser drop out of hyperspace and aim their guns at the small white domes of the Lars homestead—

               After he’d left the remains of Anakin to burn, here he was, chasing after a dead man.

               “You’re in an awful hurry for a man with nowhere to go,” he called out, perhaps unwisely. For a big man (bigger than Anakin, somehow), Vader could move with alarming speed. He stopped and whirled around so fast Obi-Wan nearly ran into his chest panel.

               “Get out of my sight,” Vader hissed. The Force throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and Obi-Wan could feel the fury pulsing through Vader’s veins—burning like a poison. He looked up into the blank lenses of Vader’s mask, straining to see something human beyond them.

               “It seems as though I, too, have nowhere else to be,” Obi-Wan replied, with quiet defiance. “I gave my word that I would keep an eye on you—and keep you out of binders.” Because he couldn’t help himself, Obi-Wan flashed one of his old, showman grins: “You’re welcome, by the way.”

               Vader was unamused. “Soon I will be free of the Rebel’s yoke,” he rumbled. “They believed they could keep me _leashed_ ,” the venom in the word was almost enough to make Obi-Wan flinch, “and for that they will pay with their _lives_.” He took a step forward, forcing Obi-Wan backwards. “I will leave you for last,” he went on, jabbing a finger in Obi-Wan’s chest. “And your punishment will be _slow_. I will tear you apart—limb—from—limb—and I will leave you to the flames. I will watch you burn, and you will lie there, helpless, as I take everything from you,” The Force was actually quivering under the unceasing onslaught of Vader’s rage.

               “Perhaps then, when we are equal, I will allow you to die,” Vader said. His hands actually shook with the effort of keeping himself from lashing out at Obi-Wan. “Once I have had my vengeance, I will give you the mercy you felt I didn’t deserve,” Vader leaned in close, his mask just inches from Obi-Wan’s face, “ _Master_.”

               The word landed like slap. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the suffocating wave of grief. He remembered his last view of Anakin—consumed by fire, yellow eyes burning, screaming _I hate you, I hate you_ —and he’d known that Vader would hardly have forgotten their last meeting, either. But he could never have prepared himself for this—that Anakin existed now as a nightmare of flesh and circuitry, kept alive only through a desire to make the Galaxy suffer as he did.

               “Did you forget why you deserved it?” Obi-Wan asked, quietly.

               Vader let out a feral sound, one that couldn’t be adequately captured by vocoder, and for a moment and for a moment Obi-Wan was overwhelmed by the image of the Council chamber, strewn with figures like tiny, broken dolls, _Master Skywalker there are too many of them what are we going to do_ and the screams that went on and on without end or pause for breath, they weren’t supposed to be afraid but in that moment they cried out in terror—

               Vader stumbled back, physically overwhelmed by the weight of their shared memories. Obi-Wan was breathing hard, with his hand pressed against his chest so hard he could feel his heart racing beneath his fingers.

               “Get away from me,” Vader seethed. He curled his hands into fists, put pulled away from Obi-Wan, tense, shoulders hunched. Obi-Wan ignored him , and took a careful, probing step forward.

               “You do remember,” he remarked, quietly.

               “Silence!” Vader should, fists at his sides. “You will be _next_ , I will—“

               “And what would Luke say about that?” Obi-Wan cut him off. Here was something he could take, in the dark crushing waters of his despair—something he could clutch like a life preserver. “What would he say if he saw you threatening to kill me? Or his new friends?”

               “You dare—!” Vader sputtered. “You want to hold—“ here, his voice dropped as low as was feasible “— _my son_ over my head, when you are the one who stole him from me!”  But even in his outrage, he took a minute step back from Obi-Wan—it was too much to hope Vader was weighing his son’s wishes against his own actions…

               Obi-Wan had nothing left but hope.

               “You were not fit to care for him,” Obi-Wan said, his voice level. Vader snarled at the accusation. “And you know it, too. But…” He paused, weighing his chance carefully.

               “Perhaps now, after all these years, you understand the promises of the Dark Side are hollow?”

               It was a risky move. Vader paused—Obi-Wan felt his presence at the edge of his perception, questioning, probing. He sensed his old master had something else up his sleeve.

               “Hardly. I am more powerful than _any_ Jedi,” Vader replied, warily.

               “But you were ready to leave it all behind, weren’t you?” Obi-Wan pressed. “When you saw what was in the mirror—“

               “WHO TOLD YOU—“ Vader boomed, furiously, but cut himself off. He clenched his fist and spun, slamming it into the hull of the ship. He struck the wall again, twice, three times—hard enough to leave a shallow dent in the durasteel—before stopping and leaning forward into the side of the ship. Vader’s fury had been awesome to behold, lightning and thunder and howling wind all made manifest in one man. But now he stood, helmet resting against the wall, and the Force was eerily quiet.

               “Whatever the Rebels told you was a lie,” he intoned, with an alarming flatness to his voice. “What they thought they saw—“

               “You’re lying to me,” Obi-Wan cut him off. “I can always tell.”

               Vader made a harsh, sharp noise—a bark of laughter. There was no mirth in it. “If that were true,” he said, “we would not be here.”

               He was right, and it _hurt_ , but Obi-Wan pressed on. “You know what they saw was the truth,” he insisted. “It—it could be yours, if you—“

               “LIAR!” Vader exploded. He slammed his fist into the wall against, as hard as he could, causing the ship to ring from the impact of metal on metal. “Liar, liar, _liar_ \--!”

               “Listen to me,” Obi-Wan said, taking a step forward. He couldn’t keep the pleading out of his voice. “I know—“

               “You know _nothing_ ,” Vader hissed. There was a desperate edge to his denial-- maybe even _frantic_. “If you take one step closer I will tear this hull open and send us into the void.”

               Obi-Wan felt, with a chilling certainty, that Vader wasn’t entirely bluffing.

* * *

 

               “Captain?” Hera looked up from the navcomp, smiling broadly as she saw Luke.

               “Hello there, Commander,” she gave Luke a mock-courtesy, “And young Skywalker. What can I do for you?”

               “A personal favor. How many of those blacklisted Senate holos do you still have?”

               Hera grinned. “All of them. Kanan quit arguing with me over how much space they take up here—he says they’re good for when he can’t get to sleep. The finer points of Old Republic political theory are lost on him.”

               Ahsoka privately agreed, but now wasn’t the time. “I was wondering—“ She shot a meaningful glance at Luke before going on, “if you had any of Padme Amidala’s speeches on hand?”

               Hera’s eyes softened. “Of course I do,” she said, and immediately set to rummaging through a set of data chips. “I think I know just the one—“

               “Sorry,” Luke pulled away from staring longingly at the blinking lights and monitors of the cockpit to Ahsoka, “but who is that?”

               “Padme Amidala was a senator of the Chommell Sector, from the planet of Naboo,” Hera  answered, automatically. “She served in the Galactic Senate after two terms as queen on her homeworld.” Hera slid a disc into the holoprojector, and the image of a slight woman in voluminous robes appeared. “One of the greatest voices for the people in the history of the Galactic Republic.”

               “She was your mother,” Ahsoka said, quietly, laying a hand on Luke’s shoulder. _That_ got his attention.

               “My mom was a queen?” he asked, leaning in as close as he could to the hologram. Padme was looking upwards to address the Senate chamber, her mouth set in a dedicated line as she readied herself to speak. Luke favored Anakin in coloring, but Ahsoka could easily see Padme’s fierce stubbornness had been handed down from mother to son.

               “An elected one.” Luke shot her a questioning look, then went back to the hologram.

               “Can I—can you play it for me, please?” he asked, painfully excited.

               “Of course,” Hera obligingly hit play. “This is a good one—Amidala only had about a minute to rebut arguments that would have allowed the Republic to institute quotas for refugees.”

               “ _Esteemed senators_ ,” Padme’s recording began, fire in her voice. Luke was enraptured.

               “ _Today I appear today before a body of beings I hardly recognize. Never, in all my year of service, have I seen previously noble servants of the people act as such craven_ —“ booing threatened to drown out Padme, but she raised her chin higher and pressed on “— _and shameful cowards! Xenophobia has made a mockery of this body and all that it claims to stand for. If we cannot shelter the people fleeing our war, then we should not have started this conflict in the first place_!” There was a banging off-camera, and cries for order, but Padme ignored them and pressed on.

               “ _If we cannot adhere to our principles in times of direst crisis, then they are not our principles at all—merely the empty words of hypocrites_ ,” Padme went on. “ _I believe in this body, and I believe in the Republic—but more than that, I believe in the people who make up both. I believe in the power of our citizens to show mercy and compassion to those who need it most—not because they have earned it, but because that is who we are, not just who we claim to be. I believe now that we can open our hearts to those that need it most. I believe we can look into the faces of those whose lives were torn apart by this war and give them hope once again—_ ,” here, she raised her voice, and her eyes seemed to bore into the soul of the onlookers:

               “ _And more than anything else, gentlebeings, I believe that we have so much to be hopeful for. Too many people have given their lives for us to turn around and live in fear. Refuse the fear. Embrace compassion,”_ she looked up again, her eyes blazing with the strength of her words, “ _and embrace the only power that will win the war._ ”

               The holo winked out, and there was silence in the. Ahsoka tried not to notice the way Luke scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

               “Wow,” he said, his voice thick. “I didn’t know my mom was—“ he stopped, struggling for the words.

               “-- _Wow_ ,” he finally settled on. Ahsoka agreed. She leaned in close, wrapping her arms around him.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Ezra frowned. Something was wrong here. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the way the cold hallway seemed to stretch on forever before him just didn’t seem—right. It wasn’t like anything on the Ghost—_

_The Ghost. That’s where he was supposed to be—not this place._ I wonder how I got here _, he thought, surprised by his own nonchalance. It didn’t matter; the design was distinctly Imperial, which meant this wasn’t a place he wanted to stay in very long._

_He walked down the hallway, but never seemed to make any progress. He picked up his pace into a jog, then a sprint, but that only made the repetitive grey scenery flash by him at slightly faster rate. He stopped and shouted, only to find his voice strangled in his throat._

_There—a splash of red, breaking up the endless grey. Ezra felt the bottom drop out of his stomach—that was not the sign he was looking for. He crept forward again, cautiously, and the red smears grew wider and more numerous until his feet were sticking to the floor with every step. He felt nauseous, but pressed on—there, at the end of the gore stained hallway, was a brilliant white light. He strained to see what was on the other side, but couldn’t make anything out._ This has to be right _, he thought to himself. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as he stepped into the blinding whiteness—_

_He was thrown backwards and slammed against a cold surface. Ezra struggled, but couldn’t get up—he couldn’t even raise his head to look around. His arms and legs were totally unresponsive, and there was something pressing against his face, smothering him. He heard a high, whining sound—like a saw whirring, and panicked. He threw himself against the invisible bonds, struggling, unable to take even enough breath to scream for help—_

_“Ezra!” someone was shaking him by the shoulder. He struggled, writhing against the bonds_ no no nonono please no _—_

                “Come on, wake up!”

                 Ezra awoke with a gasp, flailing against his assailant.

                “Woah, calm down!” Kanan put his hands up, away from Ezra’s desperate flailing. “I’m just saying, if you don’t get up now there won’t be any breakfast left.

                Ezra squinted, trying to act like his heart wasn’t racing. “Day cycle already?”

                “For a few hours now. Come on, we’ve got things to do today.”

                Ezra drew the back of his hand across his eyes, trying to remember the dream—but the details were already fading from his mind. It was a weird one, for sure, but he felt like he’d had more of those since he learned to use the Force.

                The actual memory of the dream faded by the time he reached the ‘fresher, but the lingering sense of unease stayed with him all day.

* * *

 

                Breakfast was pretty lackluster—the Ghost hadn’t had much time to restock while running all over the Galaxy after their first mission back to Lothal, and the supplies were adequate but uninspiring. Ahsoka sipped a cup of watery caf, trying to be grateful that it was warm, at least. Across the table from her, Obi-Wan was doing the same—though likely with more success. Hera had finished early and headed to the cockpit, while Sabine and Zeb were headed to their bunks to crash after a night of Vader watching. Vader himself was likely brooding—Ahsoka could feel him, dark and seething at the edge of her perception, and wasn’t inclined to investigate any further.

                It was just her and Obi-Wan now. They hadn’t been alone like this for over sixteen years—maybe longer. The war had given them very little time to sit quietly together.

                “It’s nice to have caf again,” Obi-Wan said, taking a small sip. “The jawas didn’t feel it was necessary to carry it with them when they came out to the Dune Sea.”

                Reunited, and they were talking about _caf_. Ahsoka inhaled the vapor coming off her cup, blowing out her irritation in the next breath. She hadn’t slept well last night—she hadn’t been sleeping well at all recently, and idle smalltalk coming from Obi-Wan of all people was nearly enough to push her over the edge.

                Caf was, admittedly, a safer subject than the shadow from their shared past lurking in the cargo bay—or his son.

                Obi-Wan must have sensed the direction of her thoughts. “It’s quiet this morning,” he said, smiling fondly. “Where’s Luke? Still in bed?”

                Ahsoka nodded. “I couldn’t bear to wake him up,” she admitted, smiling to herself. “He’s been through a lot in the past few hours—I thought it might be best to let him get some sleep.” Asleep, Luke was also unable to ask any more cutting and awkward questions, but she didn’t mention that.

                Obi-Wan nodded. He looked over the rim of his mug at Ahsoka, his gaze still sharp despite the lines around his eyes. 

                “We have much to discuss,” he said, with a sigh. “You’re in contact with Bail Organa?”

                She wasn’t surprised Obi-Wan chose to sidestep any one of the more personal matters left unfinished between them. He was a Jedi, through and through. “I am. He’s aware of the situation, and he’s planning on meeting us at the rendezvous at Caamas. ”

                “Isn’t that a little close to Alderaan?” Obi-Wan asked, with a kind of careful calm that meant he was suddenly very, very concerned about something.

                “It is—in order to accommodate the Senator,” Ahsoka replied. “Would you have chosen another location?”

                “Perhaps,” Obi-Wan demurred. “The Alliance has few friends and many enemies—and it seems as though you do not always know the difference. Why _were_ there Stormtroopers on Tatooine, a planet of minimal concern to the Empire for the past fifteen years?”

                Ahsoka put her mug on the table with a hard _clunk_. “The Empire was looking for Vader,” she said, a hard edge to her voice, “and they found his son instead—the son you offered up like a sacrificial nerfling to a _Sith_.”

                “It worked,” Obi-Wan replied simply. He was suddenly very, very cold.

                “You gave Vader something _else_ to obsess about—other than killing us all. But you didn’t—I mean, I’m frankly not sure what you thought you were going to accomplish. You’ve seen him. You know—“

                “I’ve seen more than that,” Obi-Wan said. His eyes were flinty. “Accuse me of what you like—of failing you, or failing Anakin, or the Galaxy, I have many failings for you to choose from. But the boy is my responsibility—I _would not_ have put him out there without sufficient cause.”

                Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. “Vader’s fantasy world is sufficient cause for you?”

                Obi-Wan raised his chin. “More than anything—more than the throne of the Galaxy, or unlimited power, or anything he could think of, Anakin wants his _family_.” The defiance, though unwelcome, sparked something in her—for a moment, the sad, broken man from the desert was gone, and General Kenobi was back. She had missed him—but she couldn’t afford to be soft, not right now. She put the surge of warmth in her chest aside.

                “Do _not_ call him Anakin,” Ahsoka snapped. “Not after what he did—“

                “It _is_ Anakin in there,” Obi-Wan insisted. “I ran from it, as well…I ran…” he closed his eyes and swallowed and took a long, slow breath. Ahsoka felt her heart soften against her will.

                “I ran from it, but it…it’s the truth,” he said, once he’d regained his composure. “He’s not the man we knew— I’m not sure the man we knew was _entirely_ the real Anakin, but…”

                “The fact that Anakin has a _son_ makes that seem very, very likely,” Ahsoka said, drily. “You haven’t explained that one to me yet.” Obi-Wan sighed and ran a hand over his beard.

                “I wasn’t aware I had to explain the mechanics of such things to you,” he said. “It works very much in the same way for humans as it does for togrutas—“

                He cut himself off at her decidedly unamused look.

                “He’s _Padme Amidala’s_ son,” Ahsoka said. It wasn’t a question—there could be no question of that. “Did that just— _happen_ , or --?”

                Obi-Wan’s brief humor left him, and he was serious once again. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” he said, softly. “I—we knew… we _all_ knew that Anakin was struggling with attachment in _general_ , and that his interest in Senator Amidala went well beyond what was _appropriate_ , but…” he shook his head. “I had no idea how deep his feelings went.”

                “Did you really not know?” Ahsoka asked, much more softly than she had been. For once, she wasn’t accusing—genuinely asking. “Or were you looking the other way?”

                Obi-Wan was quiet, his hand rubbing long circles over his chin. “Both, perhaps,” he said, finally. “The— _Luke_ was born twelve hours after the Purge began. I’d hear rumors that Padme was pregnant, that the father of her children was any number of senators – but I never dreamed it was Anakin’s. I thought he _knew better_. Children are not compatible with the life of a Jedi—but nor are they welcome in the life of a Sith, either.” Obi-Wan had a faraway look in his eyes. “I can see now, with a clarity I couldn’t then—all these pieces coming together, forming a larger picture. The timing is too neat—Anakin’s fall and Padme’s pregnancy are connected somehow. But how…I’m afraid I just don’t know.”

                “You don’t _know_ why Anakin fell?” Ahsoka asked, surprised.

                Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

                Ahsoka shrugged. “It’s always the same thing—the power, right? The Sith crave it. I mean, it doesn’t really matter _why_ , does it?”

                “It absolutely matters,” Obi-Wan said, the lines on his forehead deepening. “Anakin at the end of the war—it wasn’t _power_ he was obsessed with. He was the most powerful of us all. There was something—something wrong, and I simply couldn’t see it until it was too late. He _needed_ something.”

                “I wouldn’t know what,” Ahsoka said, with a hard edge to her voice.

                “Because you left,” Obi-Wan said, with a carefully cultivated blankness.

                “Because I was _exiled_ ,” Ahsoka rebuked him, “pardon or no.”

                Obi-Wan grimaced, but didn’t reply. Ahsoka caught his gaze and met it, refusing to back down.

                “You…are right,” he said, sighing. “I—I am _so_ sorry, Ahsoka. I truly—“

                She held up her hands. “I didn’t grab you off Tatooine because I wanted to make your grovel,” she said. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that she had questions— _how could you ever have doubted me? How could you have agreed to let them throw me out?_ —but she wasn’t sure she was ready for the answers. It was enough to hear Obi-Wan say it was wrong.

                “Though…I have to admit, I’m enjoying it a little,” she added, teasing.

                Obi-Wan let out an exasperated snort. “So much like your master,” he said, sadly. They were quiet for a moment, lost in a fog of memory. “He missed you, you know,” Obi-Wan broke the silence, wistfully. “I think he blamed _himself_ as much as everyone involved when you left.”

                “Stupid,” Ahsoka said, but her heart ached. “I never blamed _him_ for how things turned out.”

                “Then you could have commed,” Obi-Wan said, delicately. Ahsoka looked down into her drink and didn’t answer. “If you weren’t ready to speak to him, you could have left a message. I—I understand not wanting to speak to myself, or Master Plo Koon, or—“

                “I _thought_ —“ Ahsoka interrupted, harshly, before taking a long, slow breath. She pushed back the memories of the feeling of death echoing across the Galaxy, being huddled beneath her cloak in dingy bars watching the holonews with growing horror.

                “I thought I would have more time,” she finished, softly.

                Obi-Wan hesitated, then reached across the table and took her hand in his. He gave her a very light, gentle squeeze, and the two of them sat quietly for a moment.

                “We can’t go back,” Obi-Wan said, simply. “Only forward.”

                “Dwell in the past, you must not,” Ahsoka said, in a passable imitation of the venerable Grand Master. Obi-Wan smiled at her.

                “Keep your voice down,” he said, with a conspiratorial air, “even lightyears between us aren’t a guarantee that he won’t hear you.”

                “Master Yoda is still alive?” Ahsoka asked, with a spark of excitement that made her feel many years younger. Obi-Wan nodded, and she smiled—they had thrown her to the Senate’s mercy, and she had felt their betrayal bitterly, but she’d never wanted them dead and scattered.

                _If I had known Anakin would do that_ … her smile faltered. That was an absurd thought—Anakin wouldn’t have burned the Temple for the sake of her honor.

                But he had all the same.

                Obi-Wan seemed to understand the source of her sudden unease. “Master Yoda is alive,” he said, “we are few, but we are _alive_. There is hope—you can sense it, do you not? It’s—I never thought the three of us would be together again, but—“

                Ahsoka laughed bitterly at that. A desert hermit, a half-trained dropout, and a murderer—they were hardly the Team that had once made headlines across the Galaxy at the height of the Clone Wars.

                “—But,” Obi-Wan went on, stubbornly, “here we are. Have faith in the Force, Ahsoka, even if you no longer believe in me…or Anakin.”

                “Gotta say, the Force is pretty poor company when you’re a teenager alone in a Galaxy on fire,” she shot back. “How many times are we going to have this fight?”

                “As many times as we need to until I win,” Obi-Wan met her eyes with that cool stare all Council members had, intractable as a stone. 

                Some things really _didn’t_ change.

                “Well, put it on hold,” Ahsoka pushed herself up from the table. “We’ll drop out of lightspeed to change our course soon, and you need to talk to Bail Organa—and then both of you are going to fill me in on all the secrets you’ve been keeping.”

* * *

 

                “Obi-Wan.” The small blue image of Bail Organa folded his arms across his chest, deeply displeased. “I can’t say I am glad to see you. This _was not_ the plan.”

                “Senator Organa,” Obi-Wan greeted him, light and pleasant. “I am afraid it couldn’t be helped.”

                “It absolutely could, Master Kenobi.” Bail’s eyes slid over to Ahsoka, and he seemed to choose his words carefully, “your reckless decision has jeopardized more than just _your_ mission.”

                “I haven’t failed my mission yet,” Obi-Wan replied, still falsely pleasant, but now with a dangerous undertone. “And yours is not in danger.”

                “I suppose no one’s going to give me the whole story here?” Ahsoka cut in, brushing her lekku over her shoulder in agitation. “I can’t do my job if you two insist on keeping me in the dark.”

                “Some things are need-to-know,” Bail said, with a harshness Ahsoka had never heard from him before. “End of story. Am I _clear_ , Obi-Wan?”

                Obi-Wan was silent for much longer than was necessary. He and Bail locked stares, the senator and Jedi locked in silent contest of wills.

                “That secret is not mine to reveal,” Obi-Wan said at last, “and I will keep it. But it _will_ come to light in its own time. You cannot stop that from happening.”

                “We’ll see,” Bail replied, cryptically, but he did relax by a fraction.

                “Should I leave? Would you two prefer some privacy?” Ahsoka asked pointedly. Bail sighed and unfolded his arms.

                “No,” he said, rubbing his temples, “you are right. Let’s talk business. You’ll arrive at the rendezvous on schedule?”

                “We’re making good time. Our ETA is the same as last reported. Are you prepared to deal with Vader once we land?”

                Bail shook his head. “We don’t have enough of anything—manpower, supplies, _time_. We’re looking into our holding cells, but they just aren’t enough to hold him alone.”

                “We have that covered,” Ahsoka said, “but I’m asking more about the long-term. Vader is the most high-profile prisoner we’ve ever had. He could provide the break we need to win the war.” 

                “What do you mean? You’re not—you’re not thinking we can interrogate _Vader_ , are you?” Bail ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. “I’m scrambling to assemble High Command so we can have as legitimate a trial as possible before he’s executed.”

                Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. “Last I heard, the death penalty was banned on Alderaan. Have things changed so much?”

                “Vader is not, nor has he _ever_ been an Alderaanian citizen,” Bail replied, severely. “Obi-Wan, we can give him this much dignity or we can let the troops tear him apart with their bare hands once they learn he’s here—and I’m sure he’d manage to kill a few of them in the process. This is the best we can do under the circumstances. For the safety of our respective _missions_ —“

                “If Padme could hear you talk like this—“ Obi-Wan started, angrily, but Bail cut him off, equally furious:

                “Because _you_ knew Padme so well!” He countered, in a rare display of cruelty. “Padme’s _dead_ and you know exactly why—“

                “Enough!” Ahsoka threw up her hands. “I can’t _believe_ this! Is it any wonder we’ve lost at every turn for fifteen years? Are you leaders or are you children?”

                Bail took a steady, calming breath, closing his eyes and centering himself. The lines on Obi-Wan’s face stood out harshly, but he said nothing.

                “Hear me out,” Ahsoka went on, taking advantage of the silence. “We can use Vader. We have _leverage_ over him.”

                “You want to bribe him?” Bail asked, skeptically. “You think you can keep him prisoner when his—the object of his _desire_ is right in front of him?”

                “I do,” Ahsoka said, “when its coupled with this,” she hold the remote out so Bail could see it clearly. Obi-Wan looked down at it, frowning.

                “Yes, you still haven’t adequately explained what that is,” he said.

                “Our base was attacked when Admiral Tagge learned of Vader’s location,” she explained. “He was coming for Vader—but not to rescue him. Tagge had designs on the Empire, and he thought he could coerce Vader into serving them.”

                Obi-Wan paled. “Ahsoka,” he said, fighting for calm, “what is that?”

                “A failsafe,” she replied. “Tagge secretly installed it into the neural port that controls Vader’s prosthetics and life support.”

                Obi-Wan didn’t say anything. He stared at Ahoska as if he’d never seen her before.

                “You—you use that— to make him into your…puppet?” Obi-Wan asked, horrified. Ahsoka shook her head.

                “Nothing like that. It’s just enough to take him offline—if he comes for one of us, or something like that.”

                “It could be repurposed for more, but Vader’s not afraid of pain,” Bail cut in, flatly, “he’s not afraid to die—to be frank, he might _prefer_ death to living with that thing in existence. I don’t know that that’s any more of an ethical solution than a summary execution. The fact that you think we should use it to coerce Vader into—“      

                “We don’t have to coerce him,” Ahsoka cut him off. “We keep him down long enough for him to crack. Once he realizes he’ll never get what he wants on his own—“

                “You would do that to him?” Obi-Wan asked, slowly. He looked shell-shocked. “You’ve— _been_ doing that to him?”

                “Yes,” Ahsoka replied, curtly. “It works. With this, you don’t even need Jedi to keep Vader under control—“

                 “We don’t need to be controlling Vader,” Bail tried to interrupt, “what we _need_ —“

                “I can’t believe this,” Obi-Wan said. He was shaking now.

                “Well, start,” Ahsoka replied, defensively. The tension between them was drawn dangerously tight, and the Force whispered danger danger danger in her ear.

                Bail looked back and forth between the two of them. “This is something you need to work out between yourselves. My time is limited. I will have something ready for Vader’s detention when you arrive. Is there anything you need from me?”

                Obi-Wan took a slow breath, fighting for calm. “No decisions should be made regarding Vader’s fate without him present,” he said. “I want to be there as well. I don’t know that it’s wise to convene the High Council just yet, either.”

                Bail pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But I you can’t put this off forever. The Council will convene a standard day after your arrival.” He looked up between the two of them. “Don’t contact me again until you’ve finished squabbling.” He disconnected abruptly, and Obi-Wan turned back on Ahsoka.

                “How could you even consider—Anakin was your _master_!”  

                “The _thing_ in the cargo hold is not my master,” she cut him off, harshly. “And if—and if Anakin was capable of becoming Vader all along, then maybe the man I knew was a lie.”

                “From the moment, you were accused, Anakin never doubted you,” Obi-Wan said, trembling with rage. “Not once. You couldn’t even give him the same—“

                “Because I hadn’t _done_ anything!” Ahsoka shouted back. “I was innocent! Are you delusional enough to say the same of him?”

                “How could you do this to him? You’re--!”

                “That’s very high and mighty of you, Master Kenobi, but when I left Anakin he had only _one_ missing limb,” she raised her chin, defiantly. “I’ve seen his scars—seen what’s keeping him alive. He should be _dead_ , and anyone in their right mind would have done that much for him— couldn’t bring yourself to finish the job? Or did you want him to die slow?”   

                Obi-Wan flinched like he’d been slapped, but curled his hand into fists and said nothing. He looked down at the floor, trembling and fighting for calm, and did not answer.

                “I’m not the one who put this thing in him,” Ahsoka continued, furiously, “And I’m not the one who put him in that suit in the first place. I’m just the person who had to pick up the pieces. I broke my ties with Anakin a long time ago—at least when I’m cruel to him, he knows where we stand.”

                “So this is—just _business_ to you?” Obi-Wan spat out. “Anything you do to him is just and deserved as long as you do it in the service of the Alliance?” 

                “He’s done worse things to more people than we’ll ever know,” Ahsoka said, refusing to back down. “What makes you so sure he doesn’t deserve this?”

                Obi-Wan closed his eyes, as if he was in pain. “That you have to ask me that—“ he started, then broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t know you anymore.”

                “Did you ever?” Ahsoka challenged him. Obi-Wan turned and walked away.

* * *

 

                Hera found Luke in Zeb’s room, rag in hand and enthusiastically cleaning bits of a disassembled bo-rifle with enthusiasm.

                “Garrazeb Orrelios,” she asked, setting her fists on her hips. “ _Why_ is our VIP passenger doing your chores for you?”                

                Zeb’s ear drooped. “He’s got such small little hands,” he started to explain, meekly, but Luke interrupted:

                “It’s OK, I’m happy to help! I’ve never seen a bo-rifle before!” He had a smudge of grease across his forehead, and a little bit in his hair. It was difficult for Hera to stay annoyed. “Zeb let me take it apart and everything!”

                “Did he tell you how to put it back together?”

                “Zeb was going to let me figure it out!” Luke beamed. Zeb rubbed the back of his head, uneasily.

                “I mean, with _supervision_ …” he started, “you know, I’ve taken this thing apart and put it back together so many times that—“

                “I just don’t know that a _weapon_ is really the best way to keep our guest entertained—“

                “Ezra has a lightsaber!” Luke and Zeb answered as one.

                It was hard to argue with that. “Alright,” Hera said, “but put that back together quick—I don’t want us caught with our pants down if something comes up and you need to actually use it.” Zeb rolled his eyes, but started gathering up the scattered parts.                       

                “When you’re done with that,” she said, turning to go, “Luke, come meet me in the cockpit if you’d like—Chopper and I are about to take apart our transponder to see why it’s making that noise.”

                Luke’s face lit up.  Zeb saw it, and couldn’t stop a smile of his own.

                “Hey, kid, I think Hera’s right,” he said. “I better put this back together—you never know how fast things can turn, traveling with a crowd like this. Why don’t you run up to the cockpit?”

                “Are you sure? I mean—“

                “Yeah, yeah, go on,” Zeb said, shooing him away. “This’ll take me a minute, tops. Could do it in my sleep.”

                He held up a large paw, and Luke slapped it enthusiastically. “Thank you!” he beamed, before running out the door to follow Hera.

                “Humans are weird,” Zeb muttered to himself, fondly. He looked down, considering the mess before him with considerably less fondness.

* * *

 

                 “And that’s how you do it,” Hera finished, snapping shut the transponder’s case. “Thanks for your help, young Skywalker . Wanna tune up the hyperdrive with me next?”

                “Actually,” Luke said, almost shyly. “I was wondering—if we could watch some more holos—“ his voice dropped to a mumble “of my mom?”

                Hera thought her heart would melt. “Of course.” She reached beneath the dash, rummaging for the box of holos. “You know,” she said, sorting through the various disks, “when I was little, my home planet Ryloth was under attack by the Seperatists. We couldn’t always get holonet. I was grateful for when we did, and I could watch the Senate hearings.” She looked up and shot Luke a quick smile. “Your mom was my favorite.”

                “Really?”

                “You bet! I was always jealous of Naboo—our Senator was a worthless, spineless—well.” Hera paused, trying to think of a more diplomatic way to voice her ire. “He just didn’t have Amidala’s strength, or integrity, or—well, it would be shorter to list the things they _did_ have in common. Oh-- here’s a good one.”

                But no sooner had the holo sprung to life than it was torn from her grasp by an invisible force. It flew through the air, colliding with a solid thwack against Vader’s black-gloved palm. Luke and Hera whipped around, startled. _How does a guy who sounds like a wheezy reek get the jump on you?_ Hera thought to herself, chagrinned.

                “What… is _this_? Vader grated out, his voice low and dangerous.

                “Thought that was pretty obvious,” Hera replied easily, but her hand crept towards her blaster.

                “All recordings of the illegitimate Republic government are blacklisted material,” Vader boomed. He his fist, clenched tightly around the disk, was shaking with anger. “This is _contraband_.”

                “Well, I mean, given that we _are_ smugglers and thieves—“ Hera started, sarcastically, but Luke interrupted them both. He jumped from his seat and ran to Vader, looking up at him imploringly.

                “Please,” he said, holding his hands out. “Don’t uh—confiscate that. She—“ He paused, swallowing hard. “She’s my mom.”

                Vader froze. He started at Luke, and the loud rasp of his respirator filled the silence between them.

                “Your mother,” he repeated, dumbly.

                “Yeah. Turn it on, see for yourself,” Luke encouraged. Vader’s fist tightened dangerously around the holoplayer. “She’s really pretty.”

                “I KNOW SHE—“ Vader began, booming, but cut himself off when he saw Luke start. “I know,” he finished, lamely.

                “You knew my mom?” Luke asked, cautiously. Vader said nothing. He turned, holo player still in hand, and began to walk out the door.                    

                “Wait! Please!” Luke cried. “I don’t—I don’t know anything about her!” Vader stopped. He turned back around, slowly.

                “You don’t?” he asked.

                “No,” Luke looked at his feet. “Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru said they didn’t know hardly anything—they only met her once, for just a little bit. They didn’t get the holonet, and even if they did I don’t think they’d care all that much for politics and stuff.”

                Hera eased back on her blaster, but the air was still thick with tension. She’s seen Vader angry, but this was different—more _raw_ , though likely just as dangerous. Vader turned the holodisk over, staring at it.

                “No,” he said, finally. “Lars would _not_ have known much about her.”

                “And—you do, right?” Luke said, excitedly. “How did you two meet? How’d you meet my _uncle_?”

                “I’m curious about that, myself,” Hera said, feigning mildness. Curious was an understatement—the revelation that Anakin Skywalker had fallen, betrayed the Jedi and joined the Empire was astounding. That he’d broken the Code and had a child with Padme Amidala—well. If she wasn’t seeing this for herself, she never would have believed it. But now the shock was wearing off, and her suspicion was growing—just what _happened_ at the end of the Clone Wars?

                Vader shot her what she imagined was a dirty look beneath his mask. “It was a long time ago,” he said, finally. “It…” he started, then stopped. “She…” he trailed off, staring back at the holo in his hand.

                “I miss her too,” Luke said, quietly. Vader’s head shot up. “I mean, I know, I never met her or anything but…it’s just like my dad. Don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly, “I love my Aunt and Uncle. I just wish I could have known Mom and Dad, too.”

                Hera raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. The kid had a real heart—just like she’d imaged from Padme Amidala’s child. Vader’s…not so much. The Sith lord stared at Luke, looking down at him as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. Then, slowly, he walked over and took a seat across from his son. He just barely fit, his cape overflowing, and Hera thought she heard the seat creak in protest.

                “Your mother was only slightly younger than you are now when war came to her planet,” Vader started.  He seemed…subdued. “Her palace was captured, and she was forced to flee—though she would rather have stood and fought with her people until the end. But she—“ Vader paused, and his vocoder made a strange noise, like he was swallowing, “it was her people who begged her to go, for her own safety.”

                “The Occupation of Naboo,” Hera said, softly. “I remember hearing about it.”

                “Yes,” Vader replied, curtly. Luke settled back into his chair, looking enraptured.

                “Where did she go?”

                “Not far. Her ship was damaged escaping the blockade, and she—her _Jedi escorts_ thought that they would attract the least trouble on Tatooine.”

                “Where?!” Luke asked, excitedly.

                “Mos Espa,” Vader seemed…far away. “She came to the junk shop where I was working. I had never seen anything…” Vader trailed off, then shook his head, coming back to the present. “She had a queenly bearing, even while traveling in disguise.” There was silence for a long moment.

                “And?” Luke asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

                “And what?” Vader snapped, irritably.

                “What happened next? What did you say? What did _she_ say? Did—“

                Vader held up a hand for silence. “The Queen and her associates were unable to pay for the necessary part with their Republic credits. Instead, they challenged Watto—“

                “Watto? You worked for Watto?” Luke asked, suddenly. Vader drew back, uncertain of this fresh wave of scrutiny. “Uncle Owen told me stories about him! Said he wouldn’t hire anyone after his slaves—“ Luke stopped short, staring at Vader, eyes wide.

                Hera thought she would choke. No way. There was no way—and yet—

                “After what?” Hera asked, unable to stop herself.

                “His slaves were freed,” Luke finished, never taking his eyes off Vader.

                Vader said nothing. His curled his hands into a fist so tight his gloves creaked under the strain.

                “You were a _slave_?” Hera asked, dumfounded. The cockpit creaked ominously, rivets straining as though they were about to be pulled apart by some unknown force. Vader’s fist was shaking again, and there was no telling just how much damage he’d do before Ahsoka or Obi-Wan realized what was going on—

                Luke reached out and put a hand on Vader’s armored knee. “I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. “I didn’t know—“ Vader stood abruptly, knocking Luke’s hand from his knee with a sharp gesture. He turned for the door, ready to walk out once again.

                “Wait!” Luke called after him. “Please—I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it.” Vader stopped, gripping the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “Not if you don’t want to, anyways,” Luke went on, uncertainly. “I just—I have questions…”

                “Yeah, like how does a _slave_ become Palpatine’s number two?” Hera blurted out. The durasteel doorframe crumped under Vader’s fingers, and he whipped around and advanced on her, snarling.

                “Hold on! She didn’t mean it like that,” Luke said, imploringly. “At least—I don’t think she did.”

                Hera folded her arms across her chest, but inclined her head in a vaguely apologetic way. Vader seemed to consider this for a long moment.

                “At least finish the story?” Luke implored. Vader wavered in the doorway, uneasily.

                “Very well,” he rumbled, after a long moment. “Watto… had a number of vices—chief among them, gambling. He made a bet with the young queen—her ship for the part—“

                “A whole ship!” Luke interrupted. “That’s outrageous!”

                “Indeed it was,” Vader agreed.

                “What was the bet?” Hera asked.

                Vader paused, looking down at his hands. “Whether or not a previously unknown participant could win the Boonta Eve Classic,” he answered, quietly. “A young podracer named Anakin Skywalker.”

                Luke gasped, ecstatic. “My father was a _podracer_?”  

                “Briefly,” Vader replied, cryptically. “He won only one race—though it was the one that truly mattered.”

                Hera narrowed her eyes. Kanan had told her about Vader’s increasingly erratic behavior, and his bizarre decision to omit the truth of his relationship to Luke, but this—this was just _lying_. It made her deeply uncomfortable—surely she had a duty to step in, demand Vader come clean before he dug himself any further, right? For Luke’s sake, at least.

                Besides, Vader talking about himself in the third person was weird, but embellishing when there was no one to call him out on it was just despicable. Hera opened her mouth to say something, but Vader turned to face her and she felt the curl of invisible fingers around her neck.

                _OK, OK, fine_ , she thought. Vader seemed to get the message, and the invisible hand relented.

                “But what happened then?” Luke asked, after Vader finished describing the race itself (in excruciating detail—so he wasn’t making _that_ up, at least).

                “The Queen left Tatooine, and Anakin Skywalker went with her,” Vader said. “She returned home to battle for her planet’s freedom, and emerged victorious. She went on to become a Senator, and Skywalker a Jedi,” here, Vader paused. “Years later, they wed on the shores of the Lake Country, on the planet they loved best…” his voice sounded low, almost strangled.

                “…and they were both very, very happy.”

                Hera thought she might be going crazy. All of this was _crazy_. None of it made any sense—least of all the fact that Vader could sound… _mournful_.

                “Wow,” Luke breathed. “That’s…that’s so amazing. I had no idea my parents were—“ he gestured, helplessly. “It sounded like they really loved each other, and they were happy—“ he trailed off, his smile growing sad. “Until they had me, I guess.”

                Hera thought she felt the temperature in the cockpit drop ten degrees. “Why,” Vader growled, “would you believe something as _foolish_ as that?”

                “Well—“ Luke shrugged, helplessly. “My mom died after she gave birth to me, right? And that’s when—“

                “Do not speak another word,” Vader hissed. Hera startled—she’d never heard Vader talk that way to Luke. She was about to scold him, but he thundered on: “Your mother’s death was _not_ your doing. Who told you it was? I will _personally_ ensure they never—“

                “Nobody!” Luke said, gesturing frantically. “Nobody told me that! I just kind of…assumed, I guess.”

                “You were incorrect, young one,” Vader said. The lingering fury in his voice coupled with an endearment made Hera’s head hurt.

                “That’s—that’s good, then,” Luke said, clearly overwhelmed. He cracked another smile—more hesitant than before, but still filled with warmth. “But—what happened in between?” he pressed, leaning in towards Vader. “I mean—when my father was learning to be a Jedi. And the Clone Wars! What were those like?”

                Vader didn’t answer. He walked past Luke to the viewport, then clasped his hands behind his back, looking out over the stars.

                “No more questions,” Vader rumbled. Luke’s face fell.

                “Maybe one story is enough for today,” Hera said, quickly, trying to smooth things over. She leaned back, tousling Luke’s hair. “Are you hungry? Maybe you can run to the mess and grab us some protein bars before we take a look at the hyperdrive, what do you say?”

                Luke gave her a look she’d received many times from Ezra— _I know what you’re doing, you’re not fooling anyone here_ —but he glanced up at Vader, and nodded. He stood, turning to go, then stopped.

                “What about you?” he asked. Vader turned slightly, looking back over his shoulder.

                “I mean, after my mom and dad left Tatooine,” he clarified. “What happened to you?”

                Luke and Hera waited as Vader’s respirator cycled through their silence.

                “Nothing worth telling,” Vader finally replied, quietly. Luke seemed to understand, and he headed down the ladder. Hera waited until he left before she looked up at Vader. He was standing perilously close to her, gazing silently out the viewport watching the stars stream past.

                “They say the Hutt markets were the worst place a slave could end up,” she said, with a feigned pleasantness. “That is, before the Empire came.”

                Vader’s arm shot out, faster than her eye could follow, and he lifted her up by the collar of her flight-suit. She’d wondered before what it was like to be eye-level with the towering Sith—turns out, not as much fun as she’d imagined.

                “It would be wise for you to forget everything you just heard,” Vader rumbled, ominously. Hera clawed at Vader’s fist, but his grip was durasteel—literally _and_ figuratively.

                “Luke could walk in any second,” she managed to wheeze. “You really want him to see you—“ she didn’t even have to finish the thought before she was released, dropping back into her seat with an unceremonious _crash_. She braced herself against the dashboard, trying not to gasp for air.

                “So what do you tell yourself about Kashyyyk,” she pressed on, undeterred, “or the prison colonies? I already knew you were a traitor to the Jedi, but this is just-- you got free only to become one of _them_ —“

                Vader slammed his hand on the dashboard, mercifully missing all the vital instruments. “It is _not_ the same,” he hissed.  “Those are prisoners of war. They are sentenced to labor, that they may _pay_ for their crimes and prove _useful_ —“

                “Anything to help you sleep at night, huh?” Hera asked, rolling her eyes.

                “I do _not_ sleep,” Vader replied, ominously. Hera blinked. For the first time, she started to wonder if their resident Sith wasn’t actually starting to crack a little.

                “How long do you think you can keep lying to the kid?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Do you really think—“

                “I haven’t told him a single lie,” Vader declared, gesturing sharply. Hera stared at him in disbelief. “He simply has not asked the correct questions,” Vader amended.

                “Omitting the truth is the same as lying,” Hera folded her arms across her chest.

                “That you believe that shows how little you know about the Jedi you so revere,” Vader shot back.

                “Is that what you’ll tell Luke, when he finally learns the truth?” Hera demanded. Vader drew back, hands curling into fists. “That it was all technically true, just an elaborate misdirection? Do you think he’ll really go for that?” Vader didn’t answer.

                “I didn’t think so. So what _are_ you going to tell him?” Hera pressed.

                He turned and looked back out the viewport.

                “You don’t have a plan,” she said, dumbly. “I cannot believe—you just keep digging this whole even deeper, and you don’t have any exit strategy?”

                “It is none of your concern,” Vader said. “I suggest you forget about it entirely.”

                “But—“

                “I said enough!” Vader barked.

                Hera opened her mouth to retort, but she was interrupted. “Captain, do you like mujaberry or meiloorun best?” Luke’s voice crackled to life on the comms.

                Hera leaned over and pressed the button. “Either one is fine,” is fine, she said, but never took her eyes off Vader.

                “What does Vader want?”

                Hera closed her eyes and sighed, glad Luke wasn’t present. She opened them, and Vader simply waved a hand, dismissively.  “I think he’s fine right now,” she answered.

                “OK! I’ll be right up!”

                Hera cut the connection, taking a deep breath. “Did you ever love Padme Amidala?” she asked, quietly.

                She expected Vader to hit her. She was vaguely afraid he might have thrown her through the transparisteel viewport. His body went rigid, hands curling like claws, and for a moment Hera wondered if Vader would actually kill her.

                “You _dare_ \--!” he hissed, but Hera pushed forward—

                “If you loved her, how could you do—“ she gestured helplessly “—this? Make the Galaxy into something she wouldn't recognize-- the very thing she _hated_? Do you really think she would have wanted it this way?”

                Vader was deathly silent, bearing down on her like a thundercloud. “I do not expect you to understand,” he seethed. “The things I did were to preserve order-- we were on the cusp on chaos, of a war that had no end, and I _stopped_ it. She didn’t—she didn’t understand— I did it for _her_ ,” Hera was taken aback by the raw anguish in that single word. Vader’s shoulders sagged, and Hera wondered, briefly, if Kanan had the capacity to become someone she didn’t recognize—if, in his grief, he could become everything she hated.

                _No_ , she thought to herself. _He has more sense than that, at least_. But she felt the heavy weight of unease settle in her stomach all the same.

                Vader turned to her, as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts. She met the empty lenses of his mask, and for a moment they stared at each other—Vader broke the connection, turning to leave.

                “If really cared for Padme, you would stop lying to her son,” Hera said. Vader stiffened, but did not turn around. “You owe him to the truth—you owe that to both of them.”

                If Vader had a retort, he didn’t voice it. He swept out of the cockpit, cape flaring behind him. He stalked past Luke, standing on the other side of the door.

                “Wait--!” Luke called, but Vader was gone. He stood in the doorway, staring after Vader with a deeply disappointed expression. Hera though he might be the first person in history to be sad to hear of the Sith’s departure.

                “It’s OK, Luke,” Hera called. He turned back to her with the most handog expression she’d ever seen. _Vader does not deserve this kid_. “He’s just—“ she floundered, searching for something that wasn’t yet another lie “—not much of a people person.”

                “Oh, I know,” Luke said. He settled in the co-pilot’s chair, graciously offering her the first pick of protein bars. He opened his slowly, nibbling on it with a thoughtful expression. “It makes sense that he’s from Tatooine—plenty of people get like that, when they’re alone in the wastes too long. They forget what it’s like to not be fighting all the time. He’ll come around.”

                “You think?” Hera asked.

                “I know,” Luke said, wisely. “After all, no one who loved my mom that much could be that bad.”

                Hera choked. “What makes you say—“

                “It’s pretty obvious,” Luke smiled, almost mischievously. “I wonder what dad thinks about that?”

                “We’re just about ready to drop out of hyperspace,” Hera said, quickly. No way was she wading into _that_ nest of gundarks. “We don’t want to be there very long—just enough to reprogram the navcomp for the last jump. Ready to help me out?”

                Luke brightened. “You bet, Captain!” Hera smiled, trying to cover her unease. One last jump—soon they’d meet up with the rest of the fleet, and the truth of Anakin Skywalker’s mysterious absence would come to light.

                What would Luke say when he learned his father was a monster—or worse, a liar?

                It was not use worrying about that now. “Standby, Luke—dropping out in three, two, one—“ Hera inhaled sharply “--oh, kriffing hells--!”

                They dropped into realspace in the shadow of a huge, looming cruiser and a handful of escorts—all ships that should not be there. Hera slammed the comm button.

                “It’s an ambush! Everyone to battlestations, now!”

* * *

                Kanan’s eyes flew open a half-second before Hera’s warning. He swore loudly and colorfully, scrambling from his meditative pose to standing. Next to him, Ezra fell from his handstand, rolled and managed to claw his way upright.

                “How--?” he started, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, right. What’s the plan?”

                “We—“ Kanan started, but Ahsoka raced into the room, lekku streaming behind him. “Get to the guns, both of you,” she said. “We need—“ the Ghost jerked, then groaned heavily.  Ahsoka swore. “Tractor beam!” she shouted. “Change of plans—come with me. Sabine and Zeb will take the guns and wait for my signal. We’re about to be boarded.”

                Kanan and Ezra fell dutifully in line behind Ahsoka, lightsabers in hand. Obi-Wan met them in the hall, the lines of his face thrown into sharp clarity.

                “How did they find us?” he asked, gravely.

                “No time for that now,” Ahsoka replied. He went to draw his lightsaber, but Ahsoka reached out and pushed his hand down. “No—you stay back. You’re a wanted fugitive.”

                Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and looked at her, then at Kanan and Ezra behind her. “We’re small scale,” Ahsoka replied, to his unspoken question. “Vader’s been hunting you like his life depends on it. Your face is plastered all over the Core worlds. Stay back. We’ll handle this.”

                Obi-Wan pursed his lips, but nodded in agreement. “Go to the cockpit,” Ahsoka said. “Get Chopper and see if you can do something about that tractor beam.” Obi-Wan nodded.

                “The Force will be with you,” he said, before sprinting away.

                The three of them reached the cargo hold. Vader was there, gesticulating furiously at an unmoved Luke.

                “Return to the cockpit _immediately_ ,” Vader hissed. Luke just shook his head, folding his arms across his chest.

                “No way. I can _help_. I’m one of the best shots east of the Jundland. I—“

                “You _will_ return to the cockpit! I am ordering you!” Vader shouted, jabbing his finger in Luke’s chest. “Now!”

                “No! Ezra’s going to fight! So can I!”

                Behind them, the bay doors groaned. “There’s no time!” Ahsoka said. “Luke—!” Vader reached stretched out one and, and the recessed panel moved aside. He grabbed Luke as though he were a ragdoll, throwing him in.

                “Do not make a sound,” he rumbled, “your life is more precious than any in the entire Galaxy.” With that, he slammed the door shut.

                There was no time to marvel at Vader’s bizarrely paternal actions. The landing ramp groaned, giving way beneath their feet.

                “You too, Vader,” Ahsoka said, pointing to the other side. Vader drew himself up to his full height, but Ahsoka headed him off before he could protest: “There’s no time for this! No one knows you’re here and it’s going to stay that way, got it? Do I have to make myself clear?”

                Vader didn’t move, and for a long moment everyone held their breath.

                “This is _not_ the time to think about escaping,” Ahsoka said. “I’m going to give you to the count of three—“ The door groaned and buckled again. “Time’s up. Kanan, Ezra—“ Vader groaned, falling to his knees, arms sagging at his sides. The three Jedi _pushed_ , and Vader slid back into the recessed compartment. The door shut behind him, not a moment too soon—the mag-lock on the bay doors finally gave way, shrieking and groaning.

                “Well, well,” the smuggest-looking blue Duros Kanan had ever seen walked up the ramp, flanked by roughly ten rough-looking, blaster-wielding flunkies, all of them clad in vacuum suits. “Ahsoka Tano. It has been some time.”

                “Cad Bane,” Ahsoka bit out. “Of _course_ you’re still alive. Roaches scuttle away so they can live to steal another day.”

                “There’s no need to be rude, I’m not here for you, my pet,” he drawled, nasally. “This is a business call, I’m afraid.”

                “We don’t have any business with you.”

                “Oh, but I think you do,” Bane said. “My employer, Grand Moff Tarkin, was _very_ specific about your _cargo_.” Kanan gripped his lightsaber, unable to stop himself from turning to Ahsoka, who paled beneath her markings.

                “So you run errands for the Imps now, instead of the Seppies,” she said, her calm façade unbroken. “Didn’t think you could sink any lower.” Bane chuckiled nastily.

                “I think that’s enough pleasantries. We know you have Vader on board, just like we knew you’d be using this asteroid field as covered between hyperspace jumps. Hand him over and I won’t activate the mines I planted on your sad little ship.”

                “You can’t get your bounty if you blow your quarry to pieces,” Kanan said, raising his lightsaber. Bane leveled a blaster on him, and his cronies followed suit.

                “Me and my crew can handle a little space walk,” he said, “and I know for a fact that Vader can, too—unless you peeled him out of his tin can. But I’m willing to bet you didn’t—and that leaves you a little under-dressed for the occasion.”

                 Kanan’s grip tightened around his lightsaber. Bane was right. They were outgunned—even if Hera took off, the bombs attached to the ship would leave them dead in space. He shot a sideway glance at Ezra, who grimaced—they both knew they could reach into the Force and detach the mines, but it would be a delicate process, and it would take time—time they didn’t have.

                “I believe you’ve had enough time to think it over,” Bane interrupted. “Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your head.” No one moved. “Do it now—“

                “Leave them alone!” the recessed panel flew open and Luke appeared, throwing a wrench as hard as he could. Bane dodged it easily, and in seconds two of his flunkies had a hold of Luke, dragging him by the arms to their leader.

                “What is this little thing?” Bane drawled. “Surely, you can do better than this?” He looked down at Luke thoughtfully. “There’s no money in Jedi—not even little padawans like you—but a feisty little one like this might get a few credits on Nal Hutta…”

                Bane never had the time to realize just how grave a misstep that was. The entire ship tilted crazily, as if a giant hand had picked it up and dropped it suddenly, sending pirates and crew alike flying. Ahsoka was the first to right herself, and soon she was flicking blaster bolts away with her lightsabers. Bane reached for his gauntlet, poised to activate the mines—

                Suddenly, he was reaching for his throat. Somehow, miraculously, Vader was on his feet—just barely, it seemed, but there he was, taking slow, shambling steps in the fray. The Force rang with a sudden warning, and Ahsoka called “Luke, close your eyes—“

                He did, in a perfect expression of trust, but winced as he heard three necks snap simultaneously. The pirate’s bodies fell to the floor, flanking him, but his eyes stayed firmly closed.

                Everyone froze. Only Vader broke the stillness, determinedly limping forward. “You dare,” he seethed, “come near…this boy…” Bane did not reply, his red eyes blank—but his wrist commlink began to beep incessantly.

                “Dead man’s switch,” Kanan breathed. Ezra’s eyes widened in horror, but Kanan took him by the arm.

                “The bombs,” he said, trying to keep his voice level, and stretched his perception along their training bond. Ezra didn’t miss a beat, adding his light to Kanan’s, and he didn’t have time to be proud as the two of them pushed out to the edges of the ship, trying to find every one, carefully, painstakingly dethatching—

                Kanan was startled out of his reverie by an almighty crash. Vader had fallen to his knees, and then sideways on the floor. His fingers curled, twitching, and then he lay disturbingly still. Luke rushed to his side, only barely dodging a swing of Ahsoka’s lightsabers as she mopped up the last of Bane’s crew. He knelt by Vader’s side, reaching out a cautious hand to touch his helmet.

                No response.

                Ahsoka flicked the last blaster bolt into the face of her opponent, ran to the wall and slammed her hand against the comm. “Hera, take off!” she shouted, frantically. “Take off _now_ —“

                The Ghost rose, engines firing, while Kanan and Ezra both working to push the bodies out the landing ramp before it. It closed, but not before the ship was buffeted by explosions. Ezra slammed into Kanan and both of them went to the floor, with Ahsoka going to her knees and Luke clinging to Vader.

                Ahsoka scrambled back up the wall, slamming the comm. “Take us to lightspeed! Make the jump now! _Now_!”

                “I can’t!” Hera’s voice crackled. “Those mines took out the hyperdrive—we’re dead in the water!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I lived, bitch

Another blast rocked the ship, causing the lights to flicker for a heart-stopping moment. Ahsoka kept her footing this time, though her lekku swayed.

               “I think they realized their buddies are dead!” Kanan called.

               “We still have sublight,” Ahsoka shouted into the comm, “take us into the asteroid field!”

               “Are you out of your mind? We use this field because not even the craziest pilots would—“

               “ _You’re_ our craziest pilot! Obi-Wan will guide you—go! Go _now_!”

               The ship lurched and rolled, and they were off. The sound of the guns firing rang eerily in the cargo hold.

               Vader law eerily still, the only sign of life in him coming from the rasp of his respirator—no longer steady, instead affording him only wheezing gasps. Luke sat at his side, shaking his huge, armored shoulder—or trying to, anyway. It was difficult for him to move Vader’s bulk.

               “Are you ok?” he was asking, over and over. “The pirates are gone now—you did it, they’re gone—are you awake? Are you…” he trailed off, looking at Ahsoka with pleading eyes.

               “I think it’s _bad_ this time,” he said. Ahsoka shut her eyes, sighing inwardly. Kanan walked to Luke’s side and clasped a hand to his shoulder. He knelt next to him, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand against Vader’s mask.

               “He’s unconscious,” he said, “but he’ll live.” He tried to give Luke a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about him-- it’s actually pretty hard to kill this guy.” Kanan didn’t mention that he spoke from experience.

               Luke did not look reassured.

               “He told me to stay put,” he said quietly, “I should have… I was stupid…”

               “Not time for that now,” Ashoka said. “No one in the Galaxy can make Vader do anything if he doesn’t want to.  His choices are his own.” She took Luke’s hand, gave it a squeeze, then motioned for him to get out of the way. “Kanan, lend me a hand here—we’re going to have to open him up to figure out what wrong.”

               “We don’t have a medbay,” Kanan said, crossly.

               “I know—we’re using your room.”

               “What?!” Kanan dropped Vader’s arm, and it fell the ground with a metallic _thunk_. “But—“

               “We can’t do it here—you’ve got the only room without bunks,” Ahsoka snapped. “Come one—one, two, three—“

               The each took one of Vader’s arms, draped it over their shoulders, and lifted. Kanan groaned with the effort—“Why is he so _heavy_ —?”

               “Luke,” Ahsoka managed to grit out, “go get Obi-Wan—tell him where we’re going— _oof_!”

               As Ahsoka staggered forward, she tried not to think about the last time she was this close to her master—and how the cold of his presence permeated his physical self, as well.

* * *

 

               “We don’t have that much oxygen,” Kanan said, hauling a large tank into the room. “And it’s not _for_ this—“

               “I’d be more surprised if it _was_ for this, trust me,” Ahsoka said, drily. Vader lay still on the bed, (in the same ungainly sprawl from when they’d dumped him there), his wheezing growing more urgent by the minute. She hesitated for a moment, withdrawing her hands slightly, then took a deep breath and plunged forward, undoing the clasps on his helmet like she’d seen the medics do back at their doomed base. She handed the helmet to Kanan, before doing the same for his mask. It swung low on his hinges, revealing Vader’s face, a pale smudge in an ocean of darkness. He looked somehow worse than when she’d last seen him, the shadows under his eyes darker, his cheeks more hollow. She placed the oxygen mask over his face as fast as she could, and tried not to think about it. His breathing eased.

               There was a soft intake of breath from the doorway. Ahsoka looked over her shoulder to see Obi-Wan standing the doorway, his face etched with pain. “Anakin,” he said, softly.

               “No,” she said. “Live in the now—for his sake, if you have to.” Obi-Wan shot her a hot look, too fast her for her to read fully, but came to her side. He reached out to rest a hand against Vader’s brow, but even unconscious, Vader flinched at the touch, and Obi-Wan withdrew.

               “This is…” he started, but couldn’t finish. “How is he even alive?”

               “You tell me,” Ahsoka answered, flippantly. “Vader says you’re the one that put him in this thing.”

               Ahsoka caught a flash of hurt from Obi-Wan so raw she almost felt guilty, but it was gone in an instant. His Jedi Master’s cool mask of indifference slid into place. “I had nothing to do with this…monstrosity,” he said. “Though my actions may have caused him to need it.”

               Ahsoka rolled her eyes. Jedi semantics—something she decidedly _didn’t_ miss about the Temple. “Kanan, help me with his pauldron,” she said, and the two of them struggled to lift the heavy piece of armor over Vader’s head.

               “How does he _move_ with this thing on?” Kanan huffed, “I mean, how does he fight?”

               “No idea,” Ahsoka replied. They dropped the heavy piece of armor to the ground with a resounding _clang_. It was definitely heavier than the plastisteel armor she remembered from the Clone Wars. Combined with Vader’s cape, similarly discarded nearby, it was a wonder he didn’t topple over. Ahsoka stripped his gloves off and prepared to peel back the black bodysuit that covered the remaining vulnerable parts of her former master.

               Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. He pushed past Ahsoka so he could examine the control box sunk into Vader’s chest. “They would have had to break his ribs in order to—“ he started, but cut himself off, looking vaguely sick. “ _Why_?”

               Ahsoka couldn’t answer. Vader chest rose and fell, weakly, but it was clear that that was as much in _spite_ of the heavy equipment wedged in his ribcage as _because_ of it.

                “The control box looks fine,” she said, choosing not to answer. “I think we’ll have to roll him over.”

               “How?” Kanan asked, folding his arms across his chest. “He can’t rest against that thing.”

               They ended up having to prop Vader up, so his chest was slightly elevated. They heaved him into position, and Kanan actually hissed in sympathy when he saw Vader’s back—it was clear that this is where the worst of the burns were. They stood out against his waxy skin, shiny and somehow still raw looking, melted flesh a testament to the fury of Anakin Skywalker’s fall— like a meteor that burns itself to nothing before the crash.

               At the base of Vader’s neck, almost flush with the skin, was a round device, about the size of the space between a thumb and forefinger when they touched at the tip. Compared to all the other hardware studding Vader’s ruined torso it looked deceptively benign—small, neat, perhaps even discreet. There were a number of healed incisions surrounding it and running down Vader’s back, along and parallel to his spine, but compared to the ropy scar tissue at the edge of his prostethics they seemed unremarkable. There may have been a light emanating from the device, once, but the lens was cracked, and the metal casing vaguely warped. The skin around the device was burned badly, even singed in places, as if there’d been some kind of electric surge—

               “How--?” Kanan asked, looking a little pale.

               “The Sith can call on the Force, manifest it as pure energy,” Obi-Wan said, his voice low. “Lightning in their hands.”

               Ahsoka frowned. “Vader’s never been known to use it.”

               “He can’t,” Obi-Wan said, “he shouldn’t be able to— he would need to channel the energy through hands that are flesh, according to the theory.”

               “Or, he’s one electrical short away from frying in that thing,” Kanan pointed out.

               _Luke_ , Ahsoka thought to herself. Vader had tried one last desperate, crazy thing to save his  son—when in reality, he could have simply waited to be discovered and demanded Bane take both of them back to Tarkin.

               She wasn’t sure what to think about that.

               There was a distorted, metallic exclamation from the doorway. Ahsoka barely turned in time to watch Chopper run into Kanan’s leg, waving his arms and furiously ranting in binary.

               “Chopper—cut that out! Stop that! What is wrong with you?!”

               “He wants to know why you’ve taken Vader—out of his casing, as he puts it,” Obi-Wan said, softly. Ahsoka watched, deeply surprised, as he leaned forward and rested a hand against Chopper’s orange dome. Chopper spun around, with a string of inquiring noises.

               “He’s your friend, isn’t he?” Obi-Wan asked, softly. Chopper grumbled an affirmative. “I thought so. Anakin always did have a fondness for droids—the more belligerent, the better.” Chopper grumbled, irately jabbing a pincer into Obi-Wan’s leg. “There, there—I assure you, he’s going to be fine.”

               “Come here, Chop, make yourself useful,” Kanan called. Chopper trundled over, grudgingly, unwilling to take orders but eager to help Vader. _Birds of a feather_ , Ahsoka thought to herself.

               “Do you think you can do something about this?” Ashoka asked, gesturing to the ruined machinery sunk in Vader’s back. She rolled Vader over while Chopper could have a better view.

               The ornery droid hummed quietly, processor whirring, then let out another explosive, angry shriek. He began ramming Kanan’s leg once again, waving his pincers in fury.

               “He says he won’t help you put a restraining bolt in his friend,” Obi-Wan translated, somewhat smugly. Ahsoka massaged her temples.

               “Then are you saying we should leave him like this?” Kanan asked. “He breaks that thing open anymore, and who _knows_ what will happen?”  

               “It should never have been— _installed_ there in the first place,” Obi-Wan argued. “It’s an abomination. We should remove it—“

               “How? You see an operating theatre in here--?”

               “Quiet!” Ahsoka hissed. On the bed, Vader was stirring. His eyes rolled beneath fluttering eyelids.

               “Wh—where…?” he slurred. His eyes were open, but unfocused—narrowed in unseeing suspicion. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say something, but Kanan held up a hand for quiet.

               “Lord Vader, you’re onboard the Star Destroyer _Vengeance_ ,” he said. “Do you require….assistance?”

               “Maintenance,” Vader managed to rasp out, and Ahsoka couldn’t help but wince. The casual way Vader called for it—like he really was a droid…

               “What do you need?” Obi-Wan asked, in a much gentler tone.

               “Maintenance,” Vader rasped again. “Patch me—through to the _Lawbringer_ –“ he stopped, his eyes cracking open.

               “You are Tagge’s men,” he hissed.

               “No,” Ahsoka said, reaching forward. “We’re not. You’re on the _Ghost_. Remember—“

               “You’re with him!” Vader repeated. There was a wild edge to his voice that made Ahsoka distinctly uneasy. “His _spies_ —“

               “Vader, calm down—“ Kanan started crossly, at the same time Obi-Wan leaned forward, reaching out in the Force. “Anakin,” he said, softly, “it’s alright. I’m here.”

               Vader went rigid. “Obi-Wan,” he repeated, dully, fixing a blank stare on his old master.

               “Yes. I’m here.”

               “Obi…Wan…” Vader slurred, trying to sit up and failing, twisting and landing prone on the bed.  He did not seem reassured. “Obi…Wan—“ his eyes started to roll in their sockets, hints of vivid blue in a sea of cracked red veins, his pupils shrunk to pinpricks. “No!” he shouted, wrenching his torso away from their waiting hands—“No--! Don’t--!”

               “Easy! Easy!” Ahsoka tried to grab Vader by the wrists, but even when her hand closed around one he was strong enough to pull it free. He swung an arm, wildly, and managed to catch her in the chest, knocking her back a step. He flailed even more frantically, shaking his head back and forth. He shouted unintelligibly, and she felt real fear radiating off him in the Force.

               “Anakin—“ Obi-Wan, his anger from moments before now vanished, was trying to be soothing, but this seemed to make Vader even worse. He lashed out, blindly, twisting back and forth.

               “What the hell is going on here?” Kanan said from the door, dropping his load in shock. “What did you—“ He was cut off when a shelving unit wrenched itself free from the wall and slammed into the doorframe where he’d been standing only seconds before. The rivets of the ship creaked ominously under Vader’s psychic assault.

               “Get over here and help me!” Ahoska snapped. Obi-Wan looked pained as he pleaded with Vader, but his gentle, repeated “Anakin, please…”  seemed to drive Vader into a frenzy. This time, however, instead of the rage she’d seen him unleash on his former master, Vader seemed… _afraid_.

               “Obi-Wan, get out of here!” she shouted at him, “you’re making him worse!” She didn’t have time for the hurt on the older Jedi Master’s face. “Kanan, get on the other side—“

               She grabbed Vader’s head between her hands, just like she’d done on the operating table only days—that seemed like months-- ago. Kanan understood, and to his credit only balked for a moment before taking a deep breath and placing his hands over hers. Vader struggled against their combined strength, and she opened herself in the Force, finding the translucent, fragile thread that still ran between her mind and her former master’s— and thread she’s ignored for so long--

               She took it in her hands and slid down, into the darkness of her master’s mind…

               Agony. Searing, white-hot pain battered her shields, and she nearly vanished beneath the roaring waters of Vader’s thoughts, but Kanan’s mental grip around her held firm. Ahsoka braced herself before plunging in once again, into the maelstrom of _burning burning can’t escape please help me—_

               “You were my brother, Anakin!” she heard a voice saying, through the smoke and the haze, “I _loved_ you!”

                 There—Vader’s last shield deteriorated, and she pushed the flames to either side, clearing the smoke and revealing a smoldering—

               She could feel Kanan’s revulsion at the charred, shrieking thing only the Force could help them identify as Anakin, but he gave her a sharp prod, hard enough to break her paralysis. She knelt and put a hand against Anakin’s head, and her stomach dropped when he looked up at her, his eyes wide with terror. The world shifted, the image blurred, and the charred body was replaced with a small, shadowy figure, a pair of blue eyes staring at her from a featureless form—

               “He’s hurting me!” the figure wailed, small and so, _so_ frightened. “He’s going to hurt me again!”

               “No, Anakin,” she said, voice shaking. She couldn’t do this. Not _this_. “Go—go to sleep.”

               “IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN AGAIN!” he shrieked, reaching out and wrapping small, blurred fingers in her tunic, desperately clinging to her even when she tried to pull away. Tendrils of smoke curled from his grasp. “HE’S GOING TO LEAVE ME! _HE’S GOING TO LET ME BURN_ —!”

               “I’ve got you,” she found herself saying, her voice dangerously tight. She placed her hands over his, trying to loosen his grip. “This isn’t happening. I’ve got you,” she couldn’t find her resolve to be cruel, not when _Anakin_ was staring up at her from within the man she hated so much.

               Anakin looked up at her, and her stomach turned at confusion and terror in his face. Then his eyes rolled back and his body sagged, and she felt Kanan drag her back to the surface as Vader’s mind plunged in to darkness.

               Ahsoka stumbled back from Vader’s now-still form, turning and bracing herself against the wall. She took long, slow, breaths, trying to quell her roiling nausea.

               “What the hell was _that_?” Kanan asked, his voice low and furious.

               “Vader’s memory,” Ahsoka said quietly, “of—“

               “I know _that_ ,” Kanan snarled. Ahsoka turned, wrenching her eyes open. Kanan was staring at Obi-Wan with a mixture of shock and disgust.

               “You—“ Kanan looked down at Vader’s prone form and then back at Obi-Wan. “You left him to _burn_?”

               “I—“ Obi-Wan looked away, unable to meet Kanan’s accusing stare—unable to defend himself. “Anakin could not be reasoned with.”

               “He couldn’t _do_ anything more!” Kanan shouted. “You didn’t capture him, or kill him—you-- walked away— _you let him burn alive_ —“

               “I’m not proud of what I did—that I met Anakin’s crimes with—“ Obi-Wan started, ashen-faced, but Kanan cut him off.

               “You called him _brother_ ,” he said, his eyes flinty, “and you _walked away_.”

               Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but Kanan was finished—he turned on his heel and walked out of the door. Ahsoka stared after him, then back to Obi-Wan, now staring down at his former padawan in a haze of grief. She bent over, collecting the liquid nutrition Kanan had dropped earlier.

               “Come on,” she said, nudging Obi-Wan’s arm, fighting to keep her own hands from shaking. “Help me with this.”

               “I did what I had to do,” Obi-Wan said, quietly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

               She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

* * *

 

               Kanan stalked through the hallway of the Ghost, not bothering to release his anger into the Force. His thoughts swirled with memories—Vader’s memories—the heat, the choking ash, _I loved you_ …

               He’d been rash—he’d lashed out at Obi-Wan more out of his own horror at the memory than any indignation on Vader’s behalf. No one in the Galaxy would have blamed Obi-Wan for taking whatever measures he had to in order to stop the monster Anakin Skywalker had become. Certainly no one would argue that Vader deserved anything less, after what he’d done in the Temple. After all, Anakin had been Obi-Wan’s _padawan_. The master was responsible for his apprentice’s actions, and it was his duty to stop him from committing any more crimes, if not necessarily to meet out punishment.

               _I loved you_ …

               Kanan stopped, running a hand over his face. Anakin had been Obi-Wan’s apprentice. He wasn’t _supposed_ to love him.

               _Hypocrite_.

               He thought of Ezra in the cave with the fearnoks, how his heart had turned to ice when his padawan reached for the Dark Side in his moment of terror and desperation—how he’d taken him back, never dreaming of letting him go, never dreaming that it would happen again—that it could all go so, so wrong…

               “Kanan?” as if summoned, Ezra poked his head out of his bunk. “I sensed—are you OK?”

               He’d never dreamed that he would one day take a padawan of his own, not after the sundering of the Order. He’d certainly never imagined his student would be a mouthy pickpocket from some backwater like Lothal. Kanan had broken every tenet of the Order since the rise of the Empire, and Ezra seemed to care even less for the rules than he did. They made a good team.

               But what if—what if this was all _bad_ for Ezra? What if he was leading this kid—this dumb kid, with a mouth faster than his brain, that he’d come to readily think of _my padawan_ down a path that ended by the lake of fire…?

               “Kanan?” Ezra asked, uncertainly. “You look really, really pale.”

               Kanan swallowed, hard. It was too late to dump Ezra now, even if he really would be better in a home somewhere like Alderaan. It would be pointless-- he’d go kicking and screaming the whole journey there, and probably find his way back to the Ghost sooner or later. They were in this now, for better or for worse.

               “Come here,” he said, hoarsely. Ezra complied, looking nervous, and Kanan grabbed him, holding him tight. Ezra struggled momentarily, confused, then quieted and returned the hug.

               “I wouldn’t leave you,” Kanan said, quietly.

               He could tell Ezra didn’t understand, but he leaned into the embrace all the same.

* * *

 

               Hera watched in alarm as Kanan collapsed into the co-pilot’s seat, slumping with exhaustion. He hadn’t even stopped to comment on the finger-shaped dents Vader had left in the doorframe.

               “What happened?” she asked, apprehensively. “Is Vader…?” The prospect that Vader’s death might bring her something other than immediate relief and joy was…unsettling.

               “He’s—“ Kanan hesitated, rubbing his temple. “He’s alive,” he settled on, cryptically.

               “What about you?” She asked, critically. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

               “I’ve been better,” Kanan muttered, sullenly. He looked out the viewport. “Where’d we end up?”

               “Deep in the Pelriades,” Hera answered, cracking her neck. “I don’t think we’re being followed anymore.” She looked at Kanan, eyes shadowed. “We shouldn’t have been followed in the first place.”

               Kanan rubbed his jaw. “It was Cad Bane—but he had extra help. Said our friend Wilhuff Tarkin hired him to get Vader back.”

               “Tarkin? Hiring _goons_?” Hera frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. He has a whole fleet just floating around Lothal with their thumbs up their--”

               “It doesn’t even _sound_ like him,” Kanan agreed. “The only reason a guy like Tarkin would get within a hundred parsecs of a pirate gang would be to blast them into dust. Something is up.”

               “We can’t get paranoid,” Hera cautioned. “Maybe they’re keeping the fact that some rag tag terrorists caught Vader a secret from the fleet itself—can you imagine what that would do to morale?”

               “Hah! Yes,” Kanan tilted his head back against his seat. Hera briefly enjoyed the image of a fleet of imps hanging their heads, caps in their hands, but the mention of Vader brought to mind her recent, uncomfortable encounter with their prisoner—put aside during the crisis of the pirate’s attack.

               “Kanan,” she started, slowly, “do you— _remember_ anything about Anakin Skywalker?”

                Kanan’s eyes snapped open. He looked at her, surprised, and then suspicious. “Why are you asking me that?” he asked, warily.

               “I know you don’t like to talk about that part of your life,” she started, softly. “I don’t—I don’t have a good reason to make you bring that all up again. I just—“ She felt _reluctant_ to share Vader’s secrets, and felt deeply unsettled by that reluctance. What did anyone care about Darth Vader’s privacy? Who was she to preserve the anonymity that separated Anakin Skywalker from his crimes? Didn’t he deserve to be unmasked?

               “Did you know he was a slave?” she asked, quietly. Kanan nearly fell out of his chair.

               “A _what_? No. No _way_.”

               “Yeah-- he’s from _Tatooine_. Luke figured it out. He let a little too much slip about his life before the Jedi.” Kanan blinked, stunned, running a hand through his hair and dislodging a few strands from their orderly queue. He exhaled, lost in his memories.

               “By the time I was old enough to hear Temple gossip regularly, Anakin Skywalker was a hero,” he said, slowly. “Most of the darker rumors were buried once the Team started single-handedly winning the war- I only heard rumblings, nothing substantial. But I knew he came to the Temple late—later than any Jedi. He was _way_ too old to begin the training, usually the Council would have dumped him back where they found him-- but something hadn’t changed their minds. I don’t know what.”

               “How old is too old?” Hera asked, curiously.

               “I think—“ Kanan frowned for a moment, thoughtfully. “Nine?”

               Hera nearly choked. “Nine?!”

               “Oh, the cutoff was _much_ younger than that. That’s just how old Skywalker was when he—“

               “They were going to dump a nine year old back on a Hutt planet because they thought he was _too old_ —?”

               “I don’t know that they would have done _that_ ,” Kanan backtracked, hastily. “Maybe they would have left him with Republic Child Services.”

               “An _orphanage_?”

               “Well, clearly they should have!” Kanan argued. “It could have prevented all of—what happened _after_! He _was_ too old. Something probably got in him as a kid, made him more susceptible…”

               “Ezra is _fifteen_ ,” Hera pointed out, folding her arms across her chest. “And it’s not like his life has been—“ she stopped, concerned. Kanan had gone dangerously still.

               “Ezra is different,” he said, hoarsely.

               “But how can you be sure—“

               “He just is!” Kanan cut her off, sharply. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

               Hera sat back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. “Do you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?” she asked, with a firmness that said _this is more of an order than a question_. Kanan’s expression tightened, like he wanted to shout at her again, but he sighed, shoulders slumping, and looked down at his hands.

               “Vader was hurt protecting Luke. He’s—pretty out of it right now. Ahsoka had to calm him down. I…saw something,” he admitted, quietly. Hera tilted her head back, confused.

               “You mean, like a vision?”

               “No,” he said, shakily. “Like a memory. Vader was hysterical-- and we had to get in his head.” Hera winced in sympathy.

               “And what did you see?”

               Kanan exhaled slowly. “Vader…” he started, then stopped. “He--Everything that happened to him—that was _Obi-Wan_.”

               Hera waited for Kanan to get to his earth-shattering revelation. “But—“ she said, after a pause, “We knew that, right?” Kanan blew out an impatient breath.

               “I—I saw it happen,” he said, frustrated. “Vader’s memory of it. It—it was really bad. Nothing he didn’t deserve, but—but Obi-Wan was his _master_.” He looked up at her, hoping she’d understand. Hera could only shrug, ruefully.

               “Imagine,” Kanan started, then stopped. “Imagine Ezra did something—so awful, so-- _monstrous_ , it was like he wasn’t even Ezra anymore, and you—your job wasn’t to teach him anymore. Suddenly, your last responsibility is to _kill him_.”

               “That won’t happen,” Hera said, automatically. Kanan’s grave expression made her stomach drop. “Kanan, tell me you don’t even _think_ —“

               “No,” he said, not quite reassuring. “No, I don’t…but…” he swallowed hard. “Ezra might…he might be better dead than living as a monster. It—it would be mercy. What Obi-Wan did…” he shook his head. “He couldn’t do it. And that’s—it’s so much worse.”

               Hera felt her skin crawl. She’d never dreamed she hear Kanan say something like that. It was—unthinkable. “You would really _kill_ him if he—fell to the Dark Side?”

               “I…” Kanan looked lost, and her stomach turned. Anything short of a firm ‘no’ was an answer she did _not_ want to hear.  “I don’t know what I would do,” he admittedly, softly. “But not—not _that_.”

               Hera didn’t know what to say—she’d hadn’t seen Kanan this way since he’d taken Ezra on as a student. This was worse than the nightmares about the past—this loomed over his head, waiting to happen.

               She opened her mouth to say something, to reassure him, but didn’t have the chance. The door slid open, revealing Ahsoka. She paused only for a second, frowning at the finger-shaped dents left in the frame, before entering.

               “All clear, Commander,” Hera said, automatically. “No sign of our pirates.”

               “Good,” Ahsoka said. She looked tired, Hera noticed—there were shadows beneath her eyes, new lines creasing her markings. She walked to the viewport, peering out into the rocky cocoon of the asteroid safely cradling them. “Nice work.”

               Kanan’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Is Vader…?” he started, unsure of what he wanted to ask—or what he actually wanted to _know_.

               “He’s resting now,” Ahsoka said. She rubbed her face with the heel of her hand. “Obi-Wan’s staying with Chopper, making sure he repairs the override—“

               “You mean his slave tech?” Hera cut in, caustically. “Why? What happened?”

               “Vader managed to fry it when he thought Luke was in danger,” Kanan said, quietly. “He—fried a significant part of himself in the process.” Hera blinked in disbelief.

               “To help Luke— and you’re just going to put it _back_?”

               “We don’t have a choice,” Ahsoka said, sounding more weary than angry.

               “Yes you do,” Hera shot back. “You fix that thing, you keeping using it, and its no different than if you put it in him in the first place. It makes you no better than—“ Hera stopped, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

               “You knew about Vader’s past,” she said, slowly. Ahsoka looked down at her, confused.

               “Obviously.”

               Hera surged to her feet, furious. “You knew he was a slave!”

               Ahsoka’s eyes widened in shock, but she recovered quickly. “Yes—“

               “You _knew_! You used that thing on _former child slave_ —“

               “On _Darth Vader_ , to keep him from _murdering your crew_ —“

               “I don’t care!” Hera shouted, jabbing her finger in Ahsoka’s chest, “that is _beyond_ the pale of common decency—!”

               Ahsoka held up a hand. “I cannot have this fight with you right now, Captain Syndulla,” she said, her voice hoarse but firm. “I know. I _know_ , believe me, I know. But it’s important that we have a way to keep Vader in line now more than ever.”

               Hera folded her arms across her chest. “Why?” Ahsoka looked over at Kanan. His brow furrowed, but then understanding dawned on him.

               “Vader—“ he started, hesitantly. “Vader was pretty out of it, back there. He didn’t know where he was—or who _we_ were. If we hadn’t been able to put him under, he could have torn a hole in the ship.”

               Hera wanted to snap that Vader had been threatening the integrity of her ship left and right from the moment he’d come aboard, but she remembered her thought earlier—that the strain of his lie and captivity had made him act stranger and stranger recently…

               “I understand what it is I’m doing,” Ahsoka said, quietly-- maybe even _defeated_.  “I’m asking you to compromise your most sacred beliefs.” She paused, gathering her strength, and went on: “but I’m asking you to do it now, for the safety of your crew—for Luke—maybe even for Vader himself. There’s just-- no right way out of this.”

               Hera exhaled sharply, closing her eyes. There were things you didn’t compromise—there were things that you never did, not even in the darkest hour of war. She knew this. She _believed_ this. 

               But something had happened to strip Ahsoka of her arrogance, her absolutely belief in the righteousness of what she was doing—something that could threaten her _crew_.

               “I hate this,” Hera said, flatly. Ahsoka gave her a small smile, humorless and totally without warmth.

               “I do too,” she said. “ _Believe me_ , I do too.”

* * *

 

               There were voices—strange voices, he didn’t recognize them. There was—sensation, someone was touching him—

               “Easy! Easy!” There was pressure against his chest, something—someone—holding him down. He thrashed harder, but the—hands—against his chest didn’t relent, he couldn’t escape—he cried out—

               “It’s OK! It’s OK! We’re not—we’re just— I _told_ you this would wake him up—“

               “Stop yelling at _me_ , just keep him still, keep him _still_ \--!”

               Vader wrenched his eyes open, then recoiled against the brilliance of the light. He couldn’t _see_ —someone had removed his mask, everything was blurry, the light was too bright—the weight on his chest was too much now—

               “Let up, Zeb! You’re just crushing him now!”

               He knew that name…

               Vader slowed, blinking against the brilliance. His mask was gone—he was receiving oxygen, instead. He felt more damaged than usual…

               The details of the fight flooded back to him. He’d overcome Tagge’s hold on him-- everything was fuzzy, distant, he remembered bodies falling to the floor, Luke was safe, and he--

               _The smell of burning overwhelmed; the agonizing heat licked his skin_ \--

               No. That hadn’t happened. Had it?

               “Vader?” a young, feminine voice asked. The Mandalorian child-- whatever she was called. “Are you with us?”

               _To our mutual disappointment_ , he thought to himself. He tried to lever himself up, but he was pushed down once again-- the Lasat, the last of his kind, presumably.

               “Easy,” the alien rumbled. “You’re not in any shape to go anywhere.”

                Vader laid his head back, unwillingly relenting. “Where is my mask?” he wheezed, feeling his cheeks burn at the thin whisper of his voice.

               “You need to take it easy,” the girl said, with a motion like she was smoothing her brightly-colored hair behind one ear. “You’re not totally patched back up.”

               “I am well enough.”

               He has the distinct impression the girl was rolling her eyes at him. “Nope. Go back to sleep. You’re not fully operational yet—you’ve got a temperature. Sleep it off, me and Zeb will be here if you start hallucinating again.”

               Vader felt his eyelid twitch, a rapid staccato beat. “That is _not_ \--!”

               A commlink chimed, and Vader’s jailors ignored his protests. “Zeb?”

               The lasat’s commlink was comically small in his paws. “Hey, Luke. What news from the cockpit?” Vader’s protest died in his throat.

               “Is Vader OK?” the boy asked, anxiety evident in his voice.

               “He sure is. He’s awake right now, actually.”

               “Can I come and see him?”

               “No!” Vader’s sharp bark made the girl and lasat both jump. The commlink was thrust in front of his face, but he drew away, shaking his head.

               “Oh, come on,” the girl chided him. “He’s your--“

               “ _No_ ,” Vader cut her off with a growl. “Not now.”

               “I’m sorry kiddo,” the Lasat rumbled, his voice full of disdain. “Vader doesn’t _feel_ like having visitors right now.”

               “But…” Luke trailed off. “But why not?”

               “I have no idea, champ.” The girl folded her arms across her chest. Vader could feel the heat of her righteous anger.

               “Not…” he trailed off, looking up at the ceiling. “Not like this.”

               There was a moment of silence in the room.

               There was a brief moment of silence-- both rebels had the good sense to keep from pushing further.

               “Tell you what,” Zeb said, into his comm, “give us a few minutes, OK? We’re gonna help his lordship put his face on.” 

* * *

 

               “Is now really the best time for meditation?” Ezra asked, skeptically. “Our ship was just waylaid by _pirates_.”

               “That makes it the best time,” Kanan said firmly. “Unless you want to do chores.”

               Ezra collapsed on to the floor, assuming a cross-legged pose with a theatrical sigh. “What am I even supposed to be meditating _on_?” he huffed, irritably. Kanan threw one hand in the air in frustration.

               “The nature of the Force! The interconnectedness of all life! Accepting your destiny! We’ve only been over this _a_ _million times_ \--“

               “Honestly, sometimes I just count to a thousand a few times-- before taking a nap,” Ahsoka was leaning over the railing, watching the failed lesson taking place in the cargo bay with a soft smile. Kanan put his face in his hands.

               “I’m trying to pass on untold millennia of teachings here,” he said. “I don’t need you to give my padawan ideas.”

               “My apologies.” Ahsoka vaulted over the railing, landing on her feet without making a sound. She came and knelt beside Ezra in a smooth, fluid motion, feet tucked beneath her, hands on her thighs.

               “How are you?” she asked, suddenly more serious than amused. She looked down at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, and he could see shadows beneath her eyes.

               “I don’t hate meditation _that_ much,” Ezra joked, trying to lighten the mood. He was trying to be patient with Kanan-- who had been acting _really_ strange lately-- and he wasn’t sure he could handle more of that from Ahsoka, as well.

               “This journey you’ve found yourself on would be harrowing even for a Jedi Master,” Ahsoka said, soberly, looking down at him.

               “I’m-- handling it,” Ezra said, shifting uncomfortably. There really was nothing else _to_ do.

               “But if Vader--“ Ahsoka stopped, pressing her lips together unhappily. “If you ever find that you need a little help,” she said, reaching out to touch him, “you can always--“

               “Talk to your _master_ ,” Kanan cut in, arms folded across his chest. He fixed Ahsoka with a distinctly unimpressed look. She pressed her lips together.

               “Of course. _All_ of us are here for you, Ezra,” she said, still looking at Kanan.  She stiffly inclinded her head: “My apologies. I mean no disrespect.”

               “None taken,” Kanan replied, with transparently fake nonchalance. Ezra could feel the tension between them, and it set his teeth on edge. Wasn’t there _enough_ going on without—whatever it was they were fighting over now?

               Ezra felt Kanan tense, and looked up—there was Obi-Wan, watching from the doorframe with a wistful look on his face.

               “Master Kenobi,” Ashoka said, her voice just a hair too tight. “Can we help you?”

               “Ah—“ Obi-Wan seemed uncomfortable, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “No, no. I was just passing through, and I see you are all busy—“

               “We’re not _busy_ , exactly,” Ezra said, rolling his eyes. “I think meditation is the opposite of busy.”

               Obi-Wan smiled wearily at that. “It’s easy to get caught up in circumstances like these, but a Jedi must be attentive to his thoughts—or hers,” he said, with a nod to Ahsoka. She said nothing, but her expression hardened a little, unamused.

               “Then why don’t you join us?” Ezra asked. He was a little surprised at his own daring—but it was one of those hunches he got, impulses he knew now were the Force, giving him a nudge in the right direction.

               Or so he hoped.

               “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—“ Obi-Wan said, shooting a sidelong glance at Kanan, who didn’t look very happy himself. But after a moment he seemed to relent, frown easing but not disappearing entirely.

               “It would be good for Ezra if you could show him a guided meditation,” he admitted, reluctantly. “It—would be good for all of us, to have guidance from a master.”

               Ashoka inclined her head in agreement, and Obi-Wan smiled again—small, but genuine.

               “I would be honored,” he said, bowing low before them. He settled on the ground, feet tucked neatly beneath him.

               “It has been quite a while since I had an opportunity to—“ Obi-Wan began, but stopped himself in the middle of this thought. “I may have forgotten some things, in my old age.”

               Kanan snorted, but said nothing. Ezra remembered that both he and Ahsoka never actually finished their Jedi training, and wondered if inviting Obi-Wan to open up those old wounds really had been a good idea.

               “But we begin now, as all life begins, with the breath,” Obi-Wan intoned, gently. “Inhale—the breath moves in you, and the Force does as well…”

               Ezra fell into a slow rhythm of breathing, perfectly synchronized with Kanan and Ahsoka. He imaged being scattered over the galaxy—each cell pulsing like an ion storm, until the configuration of stars and atoms blurred together, overlaid with their differences imperceptible. He was so caught up in the revelation he forgot to be bored, forgot to be stiff or uncomfortable. He took another breath in, and slipped _loose_ —

               In his mind’s eye, Ezra could see the Ghost—not as durasteel and wiring and circuitry, but as the energy left behind by the people who’d made it their home. He was himself, surrounded by Kanan, Ashoka, and Obi-Wan, as shimmering lights, surrounded by faint trails of their passing back and forth of the course of the weeks. He saw their connections, in delicate threads of light—the thread between him and his master, their bond, and between Ahsoka and Obi-Wan—thinner, less strong, but there all the same. He saw threads snaking out from their circle, to the dim glow he somehow knew was Hera, to the brilliant, nearly distracting beacon—who was that—

               Luke. Ezra marveled at how, even from another room over, Luke blazed like a sun in the darkness.

               _That kid is strong_ , he thought, _no wonder everyone in the Galaxy seemed to be after him!_

Ezra couldn’t imagine what it must be like, to be living with all that light right under his skin. Luke’s threads pulsed cheerily, fragile and new but stretching out all over the ship, with the strongest one running to—

               Ezra’s heart sank, and he nearly lost the steady rhythm of his breathing. Luke’s small, fragile thread of light seemed to totally disappear into the darkness that was Vader. He was like black hole in the middle of the ship, sucking up all the light into an infinite, crushing darkness—and he was cold, so cold Ezra could feel it—

               _How can he stand living like that?_

And then, another thought: _Why would anyone_ want _to?_

               But there was something else—at the very center of the void—something flickering—

               “What’re you doing?”

               The words came crashing through his consciousness, and Ezra nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d been so engrossed in studying Vader’s nightmare presence that he’d missed the blazing one sneaking up on him.

               “Where did you _come_ from?” he gasped, grabbing his chest instinctively.

               “Sorry!” Luke held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I didn’t mean to startle you!”

               “It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said. For a moment he lost some of the worry that had settled in the lines of his face, and smiled at Luke with genuine warmth. “It’s only natural that you would be drawn here.”

               “Drawn here?” Luke asked, hesitantly.

               Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched upwards—like he wasn’t quite sure he remembered how to smile. “Have you ever had an instinct—perhaps an impulse you couldn’t explain, but turned out to be precisely the correct decision for a particular situation?”

               Luke’s face lit up. “I have!” he said, excitedly. “I—I don’t know how, but—“

               “It was the Force,” Ahsoka assured him. Even beneath the cloud of doubt and distrust that still hung over her, she couldn’t help but have warm feelings for her master’s son.

               “The Force?”

               “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power,” Obi-Wan explained, gently. “It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us, and binds the Galaxy together.”

               “It’s what lets you do this,” Kanan broke in. He outstretched his hand and called his lightsaber from his belt. It hovered in the air, gently floating inches above his upturned palm. Luke looked rapturous.

               “Stars!”

               “You’re like your father in many ways,” Obi-Wan said. Ahsoka shot him an unreadable look, but she recovered quickly. “You can learn to use the Force as well.”

               “And become a Jedi?” Luke asked, excitedly. Obi-Wan nodded.

               “If that is what you wish.”

               “He will _not_.”

               Ezra nearly fell out of his meditative pose in shock for the second time within the span of minutes. If Luke Skywalker, glowing-beacon-in-the-Force getting the jump on him was baffling, he couldn’t imagine how he had missed Vader’s entrance. Vader already towered over him while standing, and from his kneeling pose the effect was much, much worse. Ezra could feel the flames of his rage licking his mental shields.

               “Why—?” Luke began, but Vader cut him off:

               “I won’t allow it!”

               “You don’t have a choice,” Ahsoka replied, sharply. She didn’t stand, but raised her chin defiantly to meet Vader’s mask.

               “You will find that it is entirely my choice,” Vader thundered, jabbing a finger dangerously close to her face.

               “Is it? On what _authority_?” Ahsoka asked, her eyes narrowing. She let the word hang in the air between them, pregnant with meaning. “What gives _you_ the right to dictate Luke’s fate?”

               “Ahsoka—“ Obi-Wan began uneasily, but was promptly ignored.

               “You know very well what authority—“ Vader began.

               “Let’s all take a breath—“ Kanan said, holding him his hands for peace.

               “Why not?” Luke asked, raising his voice above the others, “I want to be a Jedi like my father—“

               “YOU WILL _NOT_ ,” Vader boomed.  Something in his voice made Ezra’s teeth ache. Vader grabbed Luke by the shoulders, his hand nearly enveloping the boy’s shoulder, and in an instant all three Jedi were on their feet, hands hovering warily over their lightsabers. Luke started, instinctively trying to free himself from Vader’s grip, but Vader simply took his other shoulder, pulling him in close.

               “They are lying to you,” he said, his voice pitched low but still carrying. Luke looked up at him, his eyes wide.

               “I don’t think so,” he said, cautious but firm.

               “Vader—“ Ahsoka began.

               “An omission of that size is a _lie_ ,” Vader cut her off. “Did they tell you what they would take from you?”

               “I don’t think anyone wants to take things from me—“ Luke began, confused but still trying to project a reassuring air.

               “But they _will_ ,” Vader bit out. Ezra could have sworn he felt a wave of cold air rolling off of Vader, sinking low to the ground. “Did you tell him, Kenobi?” Vader called, mocking and grating.

               “Please, not now—“ Obi-Wan said, holding up a hand for silence.

               “Did you have him bid farewell to his relatives?” Vader asked, his voice rising. “Does he know they are _attachments_ and therefore _forbidden_ —“

               “Vader, stop!” Ahsoka’s voice was sharp. “This isn’t the way—“

               “Liars!” Vader roared, “You never _intended_ to reunite him with his father—!”

               “That’s not true!”  Luke shouted, but his words were lost in the crescendo of angry voices.

               “You’ll never have him!” Vader shouted. “You cannot take him as your pawn—“

                Kanan and Ahoska were moving, slowly, inching towards Vader from either side in a pincer-like movement.

               “Listen to me,” Obi-Wan was saying, firmly. “Choose your words with care—“

               “As you do?” Vader taunted. “General Kenobi, the great deceiver of the Order—“

               “Stop!” Luke shouted. “Everybody, stop!” he turned to Vader, gently trying to free himself from the iron grip on his shoulder. “Calm down—“

               “They can never have you.” There was an edge to Vader’s voice that made Ezra deeply nervous. “I won’t let them have you—“

               “You’re not right,” Luke said, firmly. “You’re—something’s wrong.”

               And in an instant, Ezra sensed it too—there was an unnatural heat to Vader’s presence in the Force, something sickly and feverish.

               “The Jedi cannot have you,” Vader went on, with an almost demented persistence. “They will not take you. They cannot.”

               “Easy,” Kanan was saying, edging closer.

               “No one’s taking anyone,” Ahsoka was saying, though the patience in her voice was forced. Vader leaned forward, half-crouching, and his cloak spilled over his shoulders—falling like a curtain around Luke.

               “They are lying to you,” Vader insisted.

               “OK,” Luke was saying, “but I think you need to sit down…”

               They were interrupted by a shrill, high-pitched alarm—not one of the Ghosts’. Ezra could see a new light on Vader’s chestplate, blinking rapidly.

               “What does that mean--?”

               “Nothing good,” Ahsoka said, grimly. “Come on, Vader.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “We need to check you out.”

               “Short-circuited himself,” Kanan muttered, under his breath.

               “The Jedi won’t have you,” Vader said, to Luke. “You can’t leave.”

               “I’m not,” Luke said, gently. “I’ll come with you to the medbay.”

               Awkwardly, the three of them—Kanan, Ahsoka, with Luke coaxing Vader forward—managed to steer their captive in the right direction with minimal force.

                “Come on,” Ezra heard Luke saying, faintly, “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for saving me yet…”

               Ezra turned to Obi-Wan to say something unkind, but immediately thought better of it. Obi-Wan looked tired and worn again, as if every encounter with Vader aged him by decades.

               “What was that about?” Ezra asked, before he could stop himself. Obi-Wan turned at looked at him, calculating his answer.

               “Old wounds still bleed,” he said, cryptically. “We never could break Anakin of his attachments.”

               _We just broke him instead_ , Ezra thought, but he heard, but the words remained unspoken.

               “What do you mean, break him of his attachments?”

               Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, giving Ezra a puzzled look. “What has your Master taught you of the Code?”

               “Some things,” Ezra said, wondering if he was about to get Kanan in trouble with the only real Jedi Master left. “He said the Temple on Lothal was a test about getting rid of attachments, because they can lead to the Dark Side…” he hesitated, torn between lying to someone who would absolutely know he was lying and getting an answer he didn’t want to hear.

               “—but he also said all Masters are a little attached to their padawans.”

               Obi-Wan’s face went perfectly, artificially neutral, and Ezra’s heart sank. Then, after a long moment, he broke into as mile.

               “I always knew Master Bilaba was a heretic,” he said, finally. Ezra started, but there was no malice in his voice. “But perhaps her doubt will bear fruit.”

               “What do you mean?” Ezra asked. Obi-Wan gave him another cryptic smile.

               “A question for your master, I think.” He bowed very slightly, then he turned on his heel and left.

               Ezra felt like he knew less about the Jedi than ever.

* * *

 

               For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Ahsoka and Kanan laid Vader on the bed in their makeshift infirmary. They quickly learned that a conscious Vader was a much less obliging patient—though his forced march through the ship had taken some of the wind out of his sails. His ranting about ‘liars and deceivers’ faded to grudging acceptance as his exhaustion leaked from behind his shields.  

               “Let me go,” Vader rumbled, as Ahsoka propped him up at an angle that would ease the weight of his control panel on his chest. “This is not necessary—“  

               “Trust me, we all wish that were true,” she sniped. “If I thought I could leave you alone for two seconds without you doing harm to yourself or others I would.”

               Vader turned his head, petulantly, refusing to look at her. Luke shot her a sharp, unhappy look, and Ahoska winced. She had forgotten he was there.

               “He only got hurt because he was helping me,” Luke said, with a severity she hadn’t heard before.

               “He’s still hurt because he won’t rest—“ Ahsoka began, but Luke’s determination made her soften.

               _Vader doesn’t deserve you._

               “Let’s see what we can do,” she finished, lamely. “Can I take your vitals, or are you going to be difficult about that, too?”

               Vader didn’t move for a long moment, and Ahsoka willed herself to remain calm—for Luke’s sake, if nothing else. He reached up, slowly, and tapped a panel on his control box, which slid away to reveal a small display.

               “That would have been helpful to know about,” Kanan muttered, but said nothing else. Ahsoka frowned at the readings.

               “You’re running hot,” she said. “For a human, anyway—is that normal for you?” Vader sullenly refused to answer. The temperature reading inched up, and the number flashed red.

               “Helpful,” Ahsoka muttered to herself. “Alright. I’m going to get you a drip. Luke, make sure he stays put, would you?”

               Luke had already pulled a chair to Vader’s bedside and was settling himself in.

               “I’m stay here too, I think,” Kanan said, just a little too casually. “In case Vader needs anything else.”

               “Good idea.”

               Ahsoka paused at the door, watching Luke. He was thanking Vader in the most heartfelt way for saving his life, with a kind of fervor that she would have found insincere in anyone else. Vader looked as he always did—neutral, imposing, unreachable—only breaking the illusion when he reached a steady, cautious hand to the edge of the bed and placed it over Luke’s own.

               Something about the gesture made Ahsoka feel tired. The past weeks blurred together, stretching into what seemed like an endless slog through misery that should have stayed buried in the past. Even the thought of what new horrors the immediate future had in store for them made her weary beyond her years.

               She returned to Kanan with the drip-bag and a few other necessities, doing her best to stifle a yawn.

               “Why don’t you go get some rest?” he asked, taking the armful of supplies from her. “You could use it.”

               She shook her head. “There should be at least two of us watching him,” she said, her voice low. “In case he…has another episode.”

               “I think Luke’s got it handled,” Kanan replied. “Besides, Vader’s quiet now. He probably needs a nap of his own.”

               Ahsoka glanced over at Vader—still, lying with his head angled towards Luke, who was quietly but intently reading to him from a datapad. It was a surreal tableau.

               “Maybe you’re right,” she said, stifling another yawn. “But you get me the first sign of trouble.”

               “Trust me, I will,” Kanna promised. “Now get out of here.”

               Ahsoka couldn’t deny how inviting that sounded. Luke would have questions about Vader’s outburst—she had questions about Vader’s outburst. But dealing with Obi-Wan was beyond her right now.

               _In a few hours,_ she promised herself. _I’ll be ready then._

* * *

 

               Vader drifted

               The world lost its defined edges, rocking gently like the waves of a distant planet he’d visited, a very long time ago. He had been only light-headed before, but whatever stolen goods the Rebels had pumped him full of had denied him his focus—his pain was somewhere beyond a wall, his iron will slowly bending under the heat of what he dimly recognized as fever.

               The durasteel walls seemed to breathe, the room expanding and contracting in rhythm with his respirator. When would Tagge find him—finish him—

               No, Tagge was gone—Vader remembered his death, the triumph of standing over his corpse. Or was that a dream? He often dreamed of freedom, of the blood of his captors. The rebels had been there—Ahsoka—no, Ahsoka was gone, she had left him so long ago, she was only a child—

               He couldn’t remember.

               The thought irritated him, but that irritation was brushed away by the push-pull of invisible waves, rearing and crashing across him. The ebb and flow centered around the bright spot in the room, the soft continuous glow in Vader’s slowly dimming landscape.

               Luke slumped forward, his chin resting on his chest, breathing slow and even. Ebb, flow. Breathe in, breathe out. It was—soothing. Appealing.

               _I like this_. It was less of a conscious thought on Vader’s part, more of a general consensus. The steel walls of the room around him were growing farther and farther away, the light from buzzing fixture above him dimming. He didn’t want Luke to go away, though. Luke was his.

               _I want this. I’ll keep it._

               He tried to reach out, but his arm clumsily refused to obey him. He reached out again, with hands that could wrap around the glowing thread and _pull_ —pull until the good-thing came loose.

               _Mine_ , he thought, with satisfaction. The room spun, and his eyes drifted closed. He held the good thing to his chest, basking in the warmth it radiated.

               There were other threads, and he took them all in his hand, wrapping them around his palm and yanking as hard as he could. One came loose, and now he had two bright spots of warmth. The warmth radiated down to his bones, down to places that had hurt for years, soothing him.

               _Better_ , he thought, clinging tightly to the threads. Now they couldn’t drift off while he slept, born away by the waves rocking the Rebel’s ship. Safe. Secure. His.

               _Mine_ …

* * *

 

               Kanan snapped to wakefulness, nearly falling from his precariously-balanced position. He hadn’t started to doze off while meditating since he was a padawan—

               _What was that?_

               It was almost as if someone had tried to drag him off of his chair…

               Kanan glared at Vader. “Is that how you want to do this?”

               But Vader didn’t respond. He lay with his mask tilted upwards, the sound of his ventilator somewhat diminished but still chugging along. Kanan walked to his side, glaring down at him—but a gentle probe gave him the impression Vader was fast asleep.

               “Probably for the best,” he muttered to himself. Easier to deal with. Less likely to traumatize Luke…

               Kanan smiled down at Luke—eyes closed, chin on his chest, blond hair hanging in his face. He looked so peaceful, it would be a shame to awaken him—but Kanan knew Luke wouldn’t thank them for letting him wake up stiff.

               “C’mon, Luke. Let’s go get you in a bunk.” Luke was fast asleep—he didn’t stir at all. Kanan reached down and took him by the shoulder, shaking him gently.

               “Luke. That can’t be comfortable. Let’s go.” Still no answer. Kanan took Luke’s face in his hands, shaking him hard. “Luke!” he shouted, frantically. He let go and Luke slumped like a ragdoll, lifeless except for his steady breathing. Kanan rounded on Vader.

               “What did you do to him?!” he shouted, but Vader didn’t stir either. The vitals monitor on chest blinked steadily, an ominous red glow.

               Kanan fumbled for his commlink. “Ahoska?” he fought to keep his voice level.

               There was no answer.

               “Ahsoka? Ahsoka!” The seconds stretched to a minute that felt like hours. Kanna reached out in the Force but found her the same as Luke and Vader.

               Comatose.

               “Kanan?” he commlink crackled to life. “Is something wrong?”

               “Ezra, get Obi-Wan,” he was frantic now. “Get Obi-Wan here—tell him to get Ahsoka and come here right now.”  

               “What—“

               “Just do it!”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a double update on 11/18. Go back and read chapter 8 first or what happens here will make even less sense

“They aren’t in immediate danger,” Obi-Wan announced, after a long silence. He stood over Luke, absently brushing lose blond strands from the boy’s face.

               “But they are in danger?” Hera asked, evenly. Kanan couldn’t stay still—Ezra watched him pace back and forth, in an almost uniform sequence.

               “I’m afraid so,” Obi-Wan answered, gravely. “We are luminous beings, but even the most powerful Jedi runs risks when they leave their corporeal body for too long.”

               “Leave—?!” Hera started, then stopped. “What the hell is going on here?”

               Obi-Wan had his hand on his chin, running his fingers through his beard again and again. He glanced at Ezra and Kanan. “You felt Vader pull at your bond?”

               Kanan stopped cold. “I felt…something,” he said, warily. “But Ezra and I don’t _have_ a bond with Vader.”

               “You were in the mirror with him,” Obi-Wan said, cryptically.

               “So?” Kanan was obstinate.

               “Considering what you shared with him there….it may be that you do.”

               Ezra and Kanan exchanged a glance, but Ezra looked away quickly—he wasn’t at all reassured by how panicked Kanan looked.

                “How do we get rid of it?”

               “Right now, you can’t,” Obi-Wan unfolded his arms and walked over to where Luke and Ahsoka were lying on makeshift cots next to Vader’s bedside. “Not if we want to help them.”

               “Stop,” Hera raised her arms. “Start over. Explain it to me like I’m a child. What did Vader _do_?”

               Ezra could use a more formal debrief himself.

               Obi-Wan looked as though he was carefully considering his words. “The ability for a Jedi to leave their body and wander the galaxy is rare,” he said. “Few have mastered it—and thus little is known. What Anakin has done—“ Obi-Wan looked pained at having to admit to yet another one of his former padawan’s crimes— “what Anakin has done, as best as I can tell, is _pull_ Luke and Ahsoka into that dreamwalking state.”

               “Why?” Hera asked, just as Kanan asked “how?” Obi-Wan shook his head.

               “Anakin is the Chosen One,” he said, gravely. Ezra started to ask what that meant, but a look from Kanan silenced him. Obi-Wan continued: “he has always been powerful in ways even Yoda didn’t fully understand. He has talents that are simply…unprecedented.”

               _Great_ , Ezra thought to himself.

               “But doesn’t he know how dangerous this is for Luke?” Hera pressed. Obi-Wan sighed.

               “He may not. Anakin’s powers of reason seem to be…deteriorating.”

               Kanan let out a strangled half-laugh—there was nothing funny about Obi-Wan’s dire pronouncement except how woefully understated it was.

               “He’s running a hell of a fever,” Hera said. “Maybe that’s it…?”

               Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, as if the reminder about Vader’s also-declining physical health was more than he could bear. “He seems to be in as much danger as they are,” he agreed.

               “We can deal with Vader,” Hera said, quickly, “but what are you going to do about Luke? And Ahsoka?”

               Obi-Wan looked down at Vader, resting a hand on Vader’s heavily-armored chest.

               “We have to wake him up,” he said, slowly, “and if he has withdrawn within himself, the only way to reach him is—“

               “Stop,” Kanan said. “You are not seriously suggesting we—“

               “I am suggesting it because it is our only option,” Obi-Wan said, evenly. “Luke and Ahsoka aren’t traveling freely. They are being held.”

               “Wait—“ Ezra’s head spun thinking about it. “Vader has Luke and Ahsoka—trapped in his—his nightmare?”

               Obi-Wan grimaced, but nodded.

               “And you want us to go get trapped in there too,” Ezra followed, scandalized at the very idea. He remembered the sounds of sawing, and the screaming, and felt sick at his stomach to realize just _whose_ dream he had spied on.

               “Absolutely not,” Kanan said, firmly.

               “It will be dangerous,” Obi-Wan admitted. “The interior world doesn’t operate along the same rules as this one—“

               “Ezra isn’t going,” Kanan said, firmly.

               “Kanan—“ Ezra started, uncertainly, trying to mask the fact that he was actually terrified of the idea.

               “He already has a—a _bond_ with Vader,” Kanan went on, ignoring him. “He doesn’t need—any more _exposure_ to that—“

               “Simply being in Anakin’s presence isn’t tainting your padawan,” Obi-Wan cut him off, with a note of acid in his voice.

               “I’m not willing to take that risk,” Kanan said, firmly.

               “You may have to,” Obi-Wan was unrelenting. “The longer this takes, the more chance there is of any of us being—drawn into Anakin’s orbit, as it were. We are more at risk alone than we are together.”

               Kanan looked furious, but he couldn’t argue with Obi-Wan’s insight.

               “Ezra,” he said, turning his attention to his padawan. “Are you OK to do this?”

               _No_ , Ezra wished he could say. _No, don’t make me do this crazy thing—don’t make me go back inside his head—_

               “You know I hate getting left behind,” he answered, weakly.

               “Same here,” Hera said, brusquely. “How many times am I going to have to watch you disappear into the void after Vader, hoping you’ll come back?”

               Kanan walked over to her and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

               “We’ll need your help on this side,” Obi-Wan cut in, smoothly. “If Anakin doesn’t stay stabilized…”

               “Don’t worry,” Hera said, with a bravado she doesn’t feel. “I’ll keep a close eye on my sleeping beauties. Sabine and Zeb should have that hyperdrive back up in a few hours, so if things go really wrong—“ she broke off, her confidence wavering. “Just make sure you don’t do anything stupid until we’re able to go for help.”

               “I’ll try,” Kanan promised her, dryly. 

               Hera and Kanan embraced, wordlessly. For a long moment it was silent, except for the soft breathing of the sleepers and the steady beep of Vader’s life support. The spell was broken by Obi-Wan, who walked to the center of the room and settled himself in a meditative pose.

               “Prepare yourself, young one,” he said, looking at Ezra.

               “You—want us to go right now?” Ezra hesitated. Kanan left Hera, planting what he thought was a subtle kiss on her cheek, before going to Ezra and squeezing his shoulder.

               “No stalling,” he said, without humor, as he settled himself on the ground as well.

               Ezra thought about saying no—he thought about begging Kanan to let him stay, promising to take as many stims as it took to stay awake and avoid Vader’s grasp—dark, looming presence he could feel hovering at the edge of his consciousness, not sure if it was real or imagined…

               He thought about if that presence came for him again, the last Force user left awake….

               Ezra sighed and joined Kanan on the floor. He felt Obi-Wan’s presence brush against his mind.

               _We’ll follow my bond. It is—it was the strongest_.

               Ezra took a deep breath, trying to make his apprehension slightly less obvious. He watched Kanan close his eyes and did the same, reaching out with his thoughts.

               Sure enough, there it was—pitted, strained, and maybe even rusted, but a sure connection stretching form Obi-Wan to wear Vader lay unconscious. Ezra wrapped himself around it, trying to stick as close to Kanan’s presence as he could—

               And felt something heave him forward—

               And then he was falling, the world dissolving to black.

* * *

 

               The world around them was dark—a complete darkness, like the Jundland wastes on those rare nights when all three moons were black. Ezra waved a hand in front of his face, but saw nothing. He tried to close his fingers into a fist, but felt nothing—he was incorporeal, he didn’t exist—

               “Ezra!”

               The sound of his name and a touch on his shoulder snapped him back into being.

               “Kanan!” Ezra gripped his master’s arms tight, not bothering to hide his relief. Kanan and Obi-Wan stood before him in a circle of light, just big enough to contain the three of them—a warm, yellow glow just barely able to keep the roiling darkness at bay. Outside of the void, Ezra could see the barest ripples—black-on-black, something horrible writhing in the shadow.

               He didn’t release his grip on Kanan yet.

               “Where are we?”

               “Somewhere bad,” Kanan replied, grimly. “Stick close to me. This is worse than the mirror.”

               “Worse than—we’re not--?” Kanan nodded, grimly.

               “We are in Anakin’s world now,” Obi-Wan said, with a lightness that sounded slightly forced. “He makes the rules of this place. We should tread with care.”

               Ezra felt cold.

               “Ahsoka is here,” Kanan said. “And Luke. We find them, we get out. We can’t stay here any longer than that.”

               “How?” Ezra asked, gesturing the blackness.

               “We will need a place to begin,” Obi-Wan said, thoughtfully. “We are between thoughts now—between the places Anakin will go.”

               Kanan and Ezra shared a look. If Vader couldn’t stand to be there, then they needed to leave _fast_.

               “I had—“ Ezra started, then swallowed. “I had a weird dream the other day.” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t—I don’t think it was mine.”

               Kanan looked deeply distressed at this idea. “You think you shared Vader’s dream and you didn’t tell me—?”

               “I didn’t realize—“

               “Can you take us there?” Obi-Wan asked, quickly. “Bring the dream into focus.”

               Ezra hesitated. “I don’t know that that place is any better than this one.”

               “As long as it is an actual place we will be safer—trust me.” Behind Obi-Wan the darkness roiled, as if something was emerging from the depths—something big. “Clear your mind. Release the emotions, bring only the image—“

               There was a shriek from the darkness, and the void around them _wrenched_ —

                Ezra felt a wild, frantic thrill of relief as his feet hit the cold durasteel of the Star Destroyer. It was his dream, brought into startling clarity—the walls stained with blood, the distant room, the sound of a saw and the shriek of agony—

               “Don’t look,” Obi-Wan said. “Not there. We won’t be able to talk to him there.”

               “Talk to him?” Kanan said. “I don’t want him to know we’re even here—“

               “That may be too much luck to hope for,” there was a distance in Obi-Wan’s voice, as if it took more strength to keep his cool demeanor in place that he wanted them to know. “We should prepare for the worst.”

               Ezra glanced at the room at the end of the corridor and tried not to imagine a place that was worse.

               They went the opposite way down the corridor, working their way through a steel-grey maze of seemingly endless identical corridors. The sight of a stormtrooper turning the corner before them made Ezra’s heart leap to his throat, but the trooper seemingly ignored them—even as they passed directly in front of him the trooper didn’t break his stride. The stormtroopers became more and more frequent, until finally the corridor was lined with them—silent, unmoving troopers, their helmets facing forward, visors empty and blank.

               “Don’t look at them,” Obi-Wan said, evenly. “Keep going.”

               Just when Ezra thought they would be walking the endless maze until they died, the grey corridor gave way to the bridge of a Star Destroyer. The long walk to the viewport was fully populated but just as deadly silent, uniform lines of grey clad officers working diligently at their navcomps, or pouring over datapads.

               “Now what?” Ezra asked.

               The sound of his voice echoed in the choking silence, and as one all the Imps snapped their heads to look at them—though how, Ezra wasn’t sure, as every one of them had the same totally blank face, identically smooth and featureless.

               Ezra couldn’t help it. He screamed.

               “Easy,” Obi-Wan said, evenly, as the figures stood as one and began to approach. They moved with jagged, staggering steps, coming from all directions. Kanan placed a hand on Ezra’s back. “Don’t panic—“

               But Ezra was panicking. He knew that if one of the—the things—touched him, he would never make it out of this place, that they were trapped her forever with him and he was trapped forever with them—

               “Not another step!” he shouted. “Not—don’t come any closer—“

               But it was Kanan who broke first, igniting his lightsaber and bringing it down in one fluid motion, even as Obi-Wan cried out “No!”—

               One of the Imperials fell to the ground, split neatly in two by Kanan’s blow. But instead of the regular, cauterized edges of a lightsaber burn the wound was ragged and fleshy, and blood poured out of it—first as a steady stream, then gushing, hot blood that made the air stink like copper. The other Imperials turned to the fallen one, as if considering, and then one by one they fell, some clutching at their necks, some clawing at their faces, all of them bleeding—more blood than any human body could have, blood that lapped at their boots and spread across the floor like a nauseating wave…

               “We have to run,” Obi-Wan said. “Now!”

               But they could only watch as the blast doors slammed down, one by one cutting off their exits. Obi-Wan tried to slide his lightsaber through the metal door but it was no use, his blade sparked and fizzled out every time he tried. The blood was at their ankles, then at their knees, still fountaining up from beneath the surface. The vents above them slid open, and to their horror more blood poured out, gushing with enough force to paint a fine red mist on the ceiling.

               “What do we do?” Ezra asked, frantic. The blood up to his chest. It was thick and hot, and it stank, and the drops that touched his bare skin burned—

                 The blast doors slid open, and there was a tide of blood waiting  behind it. It swept the three of them off their feet, and when Ezra cried out in surprise his mouth of full of blood, and the taste made him heave. The wave rolled him over and he went beneath the surface, rolling over and over, unable to tell which way was up or down, dying for air but unable to breathe.

               The wave slammed them into the viewport—or so he assumed, feeling the transparisteel crack beneath the weight. He flailed, kicking and strike the viewport, not caring how it tore at his hands, not caring that no human could break it with physical force, desperate for air—

               The viewport broke, and immediately he was sucked into the vacuum of space. He tried to take a desperate breath but felt only a smothering emptiness against his face, a lack of air that squeezed him—his face, his chest, everything threatening to burst under the onslaught. He looked up and saw the black void of space turn red, the stars winking crimson before melting into a tide of blood, dripping, rolling down invisible walls, and in his last moment Ezra knew he had gone mad. He tried to scream—

               Obi-Wan grabbed his arm, and Kanan grabbed the other, and their touch sent him plummeting planetside. He landed with bone-rattling force but he didn’t care—unable to sit up, still reeling and dizzy, all he could do was lie just as he’d fallen taking heaving, shuddering breaths, sobbing with relief.

               “It’s OK,” Kanan said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We made it out of there. You’re going to be OK.”

               “Nothing is as it seems here,” Obi-Wan said, gently. “None of the things we experienced are real. They didn’t happen.”

               “How can you say that?” Ezra choked out. “We were drowning.”

               “No,” Obi-Wan shook his head. “You can’t become wrapped up in these thoughts the way—“ he stopped, taking a moment to steady himself. “The way Anakin is,” he finished quietly.

               “This is crazy,” Ezra said, clenching his fists. “He’s crazy. There’s no way out of here and we’re stuck—we’re going all going to lose our minds—“

               “Ezra,” Kanan gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. “Remember your training. When you are calm, we’ll find our way out.”

               “How?”

               Kanan looked at Obi-Wan, who stroked his beard thoughtfully.

               “These are Anakin’s thoughts,” he said. “If we find our way beneath them, we’ll find Anakin. Our presence should be enough to shake him loose and break his trance.”

               “Should be?” Kanan asked, skeptically. “What if he wakes up and this place just disappears with us in it?”

               “This is why we must resist the urge to treat this place—these dreams—as real,” Obi-Wan said, matter-of-factly. “They are not real. You must remain in the present. _They are not real_.”

               Kanan pressed his lips together, unconvinced, but nodded. He slid a hand under Ezra’s chest, gently helping him to his feet.

               Ezra sullenly thought that Obi-Wan underestimated just how much damage Vader’s fever dreams could do.

* * *

 

               Luke made his way through the silvery mist, taking slow, cautious steps. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten here, but he had a feeling he wasn’t on the Ghost anymore. Or perhaps he was—he had a feeling both were true, but trying to reconcile the two opposing ideas made his head hurt.

               “Hello?” he called, cautiously. He swung his arms, restlessly, and his fingers trailed pearly-grey fog, causing the strange vapors to form swirls and eddies. He watched them for a moment, mesmerized.

               “Hello?”

               His words carried, reverberating in the formless void. Luke could have sworn one of the tendrils of mist wrapped around his wrist—gently, almost lovingly—before dissolving back into the gently rolling waves around him. But other than that, there was no answer.

               Luke ran his fingers through the mist, thinking. He needed to find the others—he could sense them, distantly, although he couldn’t pinpoint a direction the way he usually could—at least, not a direction like up or down. He supposed he should have been scared to be lost, separated from his friends in a strange place, but he wasn’t. Somehow, he knew he was safe here.

               He started walking again, hoping that his intuition would steer him towards a goal his eyes couldn’t see. He stumbled, tripping over an object he couldn’t see—he couldn’t clear enough of the mist to see what exactly the ground he was walking on looked like. He fumbled blindly for a moment before his hands found something smooth—the first tangible object he’d seen since waking up in this strange place.

               It was a portrait—not a hologram, but a flat picture made with paints and oils, like he’d seen one time in a shop in Anchorhead. It was covered in a thick coating of dust, and Luke blew gently on it, revealing the brightly-colored image beneath. It was a man he didn’t recognize, but even from the picture Luke knew he liked him—he had a strong face and long, curly hair that went past his shoulders, and smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges—Luke estimated he was maybe about as old as Uncle Owen. One of his eyes was marked with a scar.

               Luke liked the picture, but somehow he knew he wouldn’t be able to take it with him. He held it upright, as though he were placing it against a wall, and dropped his hands. The picture stayed suspended in midair, just as he somehow knew it would. From there it looked like the man was smiling down at him.

               Luke nodded, pleased with his landmark. He turned and continued, walking with a renewed since of purpose. The strange silvery light that illuminated the mist-world began to dim, the clouds around him taking on a purple-black hue. A light, silvery strand of mist tugged at his hand again, as if urging him away from the darkening path before him.

               “I have to go,” he said. “There’s something there.” The tendril of mist quivered, then collapsed in on itself, writhing into a circular shape that coalesced into a small, glowing sphere. Luke took it, and the light spilling from his palm kept the black clouds at bay.

               “Thank you,” he said, running a finger along the edge of the sphere, and set off into the dark.

* * *

 

               The walked a long, dark tunnel that gave way to brilliant, blinding sunlight, beating down on a vast expanse of desert.

               “Tatooine,” Obi-Wan said, smiling wryly. “I cannot say I missed it.”

               The light of the two suns was punishing, both of them at their zenith, but they trudged through the endless ripples of sand, shielding their face from the grit-laden wind. There was nowhere to take shelter from brutal heat. They came to a small settlement similar to the one Luke had lived on, white domes carbon-scored and smoking, but found it populated by rebels—or at least, the Rebels of Vader’s imagination. The rebels wore orange flight suits with the Alliance crest but had the heads and claws of animals and they ran on all fours, howling and baying, their fanged mouths streaked with foam and gore, and the Jedi were forced to make a hasty retreat.

               It seemed like they had been walking for days when the sky began to dim—the suns didn’t set so much as they seemed to lose their brilliance, the light receding, until finally they were totally eclipsed—two ink-black holes in the dim sky, painting the sky and eerie pale color. There were no stars.

               In the sudden darkness they saw light on a distant hill—the flickering orange of a bonfire. They approached, cautiously, but were not met by any hostile creatures—or anyone at all. They wandered through the rough hide tents, cautiously stepping over the strewn corpses of Tusken Raiders, who lay sprawled on the ground as if they were toys thrown by a petulant child. Obi-Wan knelt, gently turning one forward, and found the creature had a lightsaber wound on its chest. The wound still smoked.

               Obi-Wan frowned, but said nothing.

               They made their way to the center of the camp, where the largest tent sat. The leaping flames cast ominous shadows on the hide, stirred by a gentle wind. The entrance flap rippled, showing glimpses of a shadowy interior.

               Kanan placed a hand against Ezra’s back, urging him forward. Ezra clenched his jaw—the dark swirl of emotions radiating from the tent was suffocating, and he knew that whatever they found inside would be even worse.

               _Please_ , he thought. _Please don’t make me go in there_.

               But at Kanan’s urging his did, somehow unable to stop himself from following Obi-Wan into the mouth of the tent.

               The light was dim, provided only by a ring of candles in the center of the huge, cavernous space. Each candle sat atop a skull (vaguely humanoid, but with fangs and oblong eyesockets) placed along a raised oval dais, ringing a dark shape in the middle. Ezra knew that shape—he had seen enough stiff, lifeless bodies to recognize one at a distance—but somehow he held out hope it would be anything else.

               “Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, sadly.

               The body belonged to a woman—older, her dark hair streaked with silver that glinted in the flickering light of the dying candles. Her face was covered in fine lines, her features slack in death. Ezra drew closer, wondering what Obi-Wan saw that he did not.

               The woman’s eyes flew open and she snapped her head to face them. Ezra screamed, and the woman opened her mouth to, but no sound came out—only a creeping blossom of rot, begging at her neck and spreading across her face. Her skin withered, her eyesockets filled with maggots, and her jaw sagged open, revealing scattered teeth among a mass of writhing worms.

               “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, mournfully. He reached out and laid his hand on the woman’s skeletal fingers. “It shouldn’t have ended this way.”

               The ground beneath them rumbled, and outside the wind built to a howling gale. The walls of the tent flapped wildly under the onslaught but Obi-Wan held firm, so Ezra did as well. The wind whipped the sand within the tent, a small whirlwind forming around the venerated corpse. The dais shuddered, sending candles toppling and maggot squirming, and then began to sink into the sand—further, further, until the woman’s body was totally consumed, and then further still, the depression opening into a shaft that lead deep beneath the earth.

               “We have to go even deeper?” Kanan asked, uneasily. Obi-Wan nodded.

               “It appears to be the only way.”

               There was a set of rough-hewn stairs, spiraling downwards into the abyss. Ezra leaned over, but could see nothing at the bottom—only more darkness.

               “Well,” Kanan said, wearily, “lead on.”

* * *

 

               Ahsoka ran her finger along the dresser—a dark-grained expensive wood, with luster and shine ruined by a thick coat of dust. She rubbed her fingers together, idly, then moved on. Each footstep disturbed more dust, throwing it into the air where it danced and caught the last beams of dying light. The thick carpeting of dust blunted the appearance of the ruined apartment, softened the jagged edges of broken furniture, gave uniformity to the torn artwork and toppled statues. Once, this must have been a very beautiful home, expensive but not ostentatious, tasteful and yet warm.

               It had been. Ahsoka remembered the apartments at 500 Republica well, even if she’d only been there a handful of times.

               She stopped in the middle of the destroyed living room, kneeling down and brushing her fingers against the floor. There, just visible beneath the choking dust. Blood, and scorch marks. Something terrible had happened here.

               Something else caught her eye- she reached under an upended sofa, and pulled out a small holodisk. It was cracked in the middle, leaving wires and circuitry exposed. She flipped it on anyways, and an image sprang to life in her hand—distorted, warped, but recognizable as a portrait of two people. There was a dark haired woman, heavily pregnant, her face scrambled so it was not quite recognizable, her form wavering and unstable. The figure next to her glitched in and out, ominously, the pixels composing his form so distorted it was difficult to see he was a man at all.

               Ahsoka started to bring the holo closer to her face but it sparked with a threatening crack of electricity. Startled, she dropped it to the ground, where it began to smoke. Tongues of flame erupted from underneath the casing and within moments the holo was burnt entirely to ash.

                Ahsoka knew what she would find when she went into the bedroom. She knew, but she carefully moved the splintered chairs and broken table anyway, methodically clearing a way to the door. She palmed the lock and it groaned, as if it was reluctant to slide open and admit her.

               The bed was burnt, a charred ruin in the middle of the room. There was blood on the floors—and the walls and even the ceiling as well, splattered and sprays of fine red mist. Ahsoka walked to the window where and empty cradle sat, braced herself, and looked down.

               There was a blanket covering a still, unmoving silhouette—a shape that made her sick to look at. She gripped the edge of the blanket and pulled it back— but instead the infant corpse she had feared, all she found was a pile of ash, which immediately collapsed, sending fine particles into the already dust-choked air. Glinting in the center of the pile were two delicate silver name-plates, small enough for a newborn’s wrist. Ahsoka picked one up, but the surface was so scratched the name was illegible.

               She looked up, staring at the window across the vast expanse of Coruscant—no, this must be Imperial Center, cold and harsh at every turn, utterly devoid of the chaotic life that had made the heart of the Republic beat so fiercely. Her eye was drawn to the towering monolith, squatting like a gorged monster over the city—the Imperial Palace.

               The site of the former Jedi Temple.

               The silver nameplate crumbled to dust in Ahsoka’s palm. She raised it and blew, gently, sending the dust dancing through the room.

               She knew where she had to go.

* * *

 

               The spiral staircase went down, down from the tent in the desert through a darkness that lasted for days—or at least, so it seemed to Ezra. They walked in silence, with only the fading light from the pinprick hole above them to illuminate the stairs beneath their feet. Ezra noticed subtle changes—the air became staler the further down they went, dusty and unmoving with a tinge of rot. The smell became more and more pronounced until they finally reached the bottom—a dimly-lit stone corridor that made Kanan stop freeze in recognition.

               “Not here,” he said. “I can’t do it.”

               “It will not be the Temple you knew,” Obi-Wan said, grimly. “Stay in the present. If you become lost in your own past you may never leave here.”

               Ezra glanced uneasily at the stone walls—they seemed menacing and cold, nothing like the shining Temple he’d seen in the mirror with Kanan what seemed like years ago.

               “I can’t watch him _desecrate_ —“

               “I’m afraid you must,” Obi-Wan interrupted, firmly. “The sooner we find Anakin, the sooner we can put this all behind us.”

               “Like _you_ have already put it behind you, is that it? You just _forgot_?” Kanan snapped. Obi-Wan’s expression hardened.

               “I was there,” he said, his voice pitched low. “I will _never_ forget.”

               Kanan pressed his mouth in a firm line but said nothing. Obi-Wan seemed to accept this, and they moved onwards.

               Ezra braced himself, but the first sight of streaked blood on the floor still made him nauseous. The signs of battle grew more prominent the deeper into the Temple they went—glassy-edged lightsaber gouges on the walls, dark smoke damage on the ceiling, the psychic echo of decades-old screams. Kanan maintained a white-knuckled grip on his lightsaber, but said nothing.

               In what was, in its own way, a perversely merciful turn of events, the first body they came across was almost entirely skeletal—cobwebs filled the dark hollow of its eyes, stretched the distance between sharp ribs and splayed fingers. Even so, the body was so, so small—Kanan knelt, brushing the forehead of the skull with his knuckles, and it crumbled to dust between his touch.

               “We can’t stop,” Obi-Wan said, his voice flinty.

               Kanan didn’t argue.

               The bodies were endless, lining the halls where they had fallen—some in improbable positions, their fingers pointed in accusation, their mouths hanging open in one last, silent condemnation. Ezra stared at the floor, only looking as far ahead as his next step, but he could see them from the corners of his vision—the ghosts of the Old Republic.

               He was startled when Obi-Wan came to a sudden halt. Ezra dared look up at two towering doors, the details of their fine carving hidden by crusted, accumulated gore.

               “The Chamber of Judgement?” Kanan asked, skeptically. Obi-Wan raised his hand and laid them against the seam of the two doors—there was no visible opening mechanism.

               “Ahsoka,” he said, quietly.

               “Is she here?” Ezra asked, too quickly.

               Obi-Wan didn’t answer, but the doors flew open beneath his hand.

               The room had been magnificent once, a circular dais with towering, raised seats and a ceiling so high it seemed to disappear entirely. Now the pillars were scorched with blaster fire, the raised seats toppled with vicious slashes. And in the center of the circle, in an area carefully clear of destruction—

               “Ahsoka!”

               Ezra didn’t immediately recognize her—her body was small and thin, maybe even shorter than he was—if he had to guess, she was only twelve or thirteen years old. She lay on her side, in a crumpled heap. Kanan ran to her side, gently turning her face upwards—her eyes were closed, a slight trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Despite all he’d seen, it was enough to make Ezra feel sick again.

               “He wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said, faintly. “He wouldn’t have—“

               “I don’t like it either.”

               Ezra’s heart almost stopped at the voice, but his shock was quickly overcome by relief. Ahsoka emerged from behind a half-fallen pillar, her expression worn and tired.

               “We’ve been looking for you,” Kanan said, his voice strained.

               “You found us,” Ahsoka replied, gesturing to the body without humor. “What is this place?”

               “You’re dream-walking,” Obi-Wan said, quickly. “We all are.”

               Ahsoka furrowed her brow. “Whose dream--?” she stopped herself short. “Of course. How? Why?”

               “We are short on time,” Obi-Wan said. “Luke is here as well. Anakin doesn’t know what he’s done.”

               Ahsoka looked at the tiny corpse. “I think he does.”

               “He thought you were dead,” Obi-Wan said, tightly. “It grieves him still.”

               “Is that my fault?” Ahsoka snapped. Obi-Wan looked down.

               “No,” he said. “It’s mine.” He glanced at one of the seats, which seemed to have taken a more vicious beating than any of the others. Ezra felt he was missing something, but he was too tired to try and puzzle together the disparate pieces.

               “We need to find Luke and get out of here,” Kanan said, breaking the silence. “Where is he?”

               Ahsoka shook her head. “I haven’t sensed him,” she admitted. “But I was lead here—and whatever we are supposed to find—“

               She pointed wordlessly out the door, and in the ensuing silence they heard the sound they dreaded—a distant, muffled hum of a lightsaber—

               And the slow, mechanical sound of breathing.

                 No one said anything. Obi-Wan stood, staring out into the empty hall.

               “Anakin’s mind is sick,” he said. “His thoughts are diseased—but in this place, we can only win on his terms—no weapons. Be ready.”

* * *

 

               They heard the sound of a lightsaber striking again and again, the clash of energy against energy, and Ezra curled his hand into a tight fist. His heart pounded in his chest with every unseen blow and his breath came fast and shallow, waiting for what would happen when they turned the final corner and faced the heart of the nightmare—

               He felt a hand on his arm and started, looking up. Ahsoka stared grim-faced down at him. “Easy,” she said. “You’ve faced him before.”

               Ezra nodded, his mouth pressed together firmly. He was afraid if he opened it to talk he might be sick.

               They found Vader at the heart of the Temple, a large open-air auditorium strewn with freshly broken bodies.  Obi-Wan approached cautiously, Ahsoka close behind, her hand hovering over his lightsaber out of habit—but Vader didn’t notice them. He worked furiously, striking his lightsaber again and again against an enormous glowing orb. It floated high above the ground, roughly at Vader’s chest height, seemingly invulnerable to his furious assault.

               “Anakin!” the scream from within the sphere made Ezra’s heart leap to his threat. “Anakin, help me!”

               Vader threw his lightsaber aside and pounded on the sphere with his fists, but they proved equally useless.

               “Anakin, please! It hurts! Help me!”

               “TELL ME _HOW_!” Vader roared. He desperately tried to claw at the shield, but he found no purchase against the smooth, curved edges.

               “It hurts! That baby’s coming—it’s killing me! Anakin!”

               “Padme!”

               They were close enough now that they could see the figure in the orb—a woman, slight with dark hair and a swollen belly. She was doubled over, sobbing with pain, and Vader once again tried to break the barrier that kept him from her—but to no avail.

               “It’s dark,” she moaned. “Why won’t you help me?”

               “Let me in!” Vader shouted. “Let me in! I can—Padme--!”

               The woman—Padme had begun to choke, her hands clawing at her throat in a gesture that made Ezra’s stomach drop.

               “Anakin,” she managed, “why…won’t you…help me…”

               “No!” Vader screamed. “No! That isn’t my fault! No! No!” But the woman finally, grimly went still, crumpling into a heap. Vader shrieked, the metallic sound harsh and distorted, and Ezra clapped his hands over his ears.

               “No! Wake up!” Vader’s cries were high and shrill. “Padme! Stop!” 

               But the woman didn’t stir. They were close now, directly behind Vader, close enough to see movement in the sphere—two tiny hands pressing against the skin of the dead woman’s abdomen, and a tiny, screaming face—

               “Anakin!” Obi-Wan cried out. The spell was broken—the sphere shone brightly, an incandescent light Ezra had to shield his eyes against, and then collapsed upon itself, vanishing. Vader turned, a sudden, snakelike movement.

               “Obi-Wan,” he hissed. “ _You_ did this.”

               Obi-Wan’s face hardened. “Her death wasn’t at my hands,” he said, sternly. “You have to accept this.”

               Vader called his lightsaber to his hand and brought it down, Obi-Wan’s blue blade rising to meet it at the last moment.

               “IT’S YOUR FAULT!” Vader roared. “YOU _MADE_ ME!”

               “Your choices were always your own,” Obi-Wan danced just out of reach. “If you accept your guilt—“

               “ _You_ are the guilty ones,” Vader growled. “I _had_ to do it. You _made_ me. You wouldn’t stop fighting!” He brought his blade down again and again. “I stopped the war!”

               Vader brought his lightsaber back for another crashing blow, only to be caught by two brilliant white blades. Vader turned, viciously, forced back by a double blow from Ahsoka.

               “You have to wake up!” she shouted. “Are you so obsessed with living in the past you’ll destroy the only chance for the future?”

               Vader roared and pushed back against her lightsabers, forcing her to slide her blades free in a shower of sparks.

               “There is only one future,” Vader hissed. “The Emperor will reign for ten thousand years, and I will serve him until I die… but I—will—never—die—!” with each word his brought his weapon down in a crashing blow, force Ahsoka back until she stood pinned against a broken pillar—nowhere to go.

               “Anakin,” Obi-Wan called. “Listen to me—“

               Vader turned to him and laughed—a harsh, grating sound barely recognizable as laughter. “You want to talk to Anakin,” he sneered. “Anakin’s not here.”

               “You know that isn’t true,” Obi-Wan said, gravely. “I may have believed it once, but I know it is a lie we both told ourselves.”

               Vader drew closer, towering over his older master. “Anakin is weak,” he hissed. “I’m protecting him from you.”

               “You’re hiding from the truth,” Obi-Wan went on, steadfastly. “You aren’t a coward, Anakin. Face what you’ve done—“

               “Anakin is _not here_ ,” Vader snarled. “I buried him—“ Vader turned, just barely knocking aside Ahsoka’s strike from above. She easily pivoted, landing on her feet and striking again—there was a brilliant flash of light, and sparks flew as her blade caught Vader’s mask, sending him to the ground with a crashing thud.

               “No—!” Obi-Wan scrambled to Vader’s side, heaving his enormous bulk face-up. Vader’s helmet rolled free, revealing an empty suit of armor.

               “What—?” Kanan started, but he was interrupted by an ominous rumble, and the floor beneath their feet began to shake. The marble floors rolled like a wave, knocking Ezra off his feet. He was thrown back and forth by the violently roiling floor, only able to catch glimpses of toppling pillars and falling masonry.

               “Obi-Wan—!” he heard Ahsoka cry, and forced himself to turn. The ground split in two, opening a yawning chasm that swallowed Vader’s empty armor—and Obi-Wan with it. “No--!” Ahsoka crawled, reaching an arm over the pit, but the ground pitched her forwards and she fell, disappearing into the void.

               “Ezra, hold on!” he heard, barely a second before he felt Kanan grab him from behind, trying to pull them both away from the edge of the pit. But the ground pitched and heaved again, and then, with a horrible grating moan, pulled itself apart. The crack opened wider, and they couldn’t outrun it—they fell….

* * *

 

               Luke paused, frustrated. It seemed like was hardly making any progress in the darkness—no matter how far he walked, he never seemed to go anywhere. There were no landmarks, nothing for him to judge his progress against—just the dark, swirling expanse of black clouds.

               _Turn back_

               Luke didn’t ‘hear’ the words so much as felt them, the slight pressure on his mind as an idea not his own slid beneath his thoughts.

               “Who’s there?” he asked, turning and holding his light aloft.

               _You will not like what you find._

               Luke hesitated. Maybe he should go back. The mists had seemed less threatening before. Maybe he should just wait in the safer place until someone came to find him.

               But then he felt it again. The irresistible call, pulling him forward, compelling him into the mist.

               _Look_ , it seemed to say. _Come and see_.

               No, that wasn’t quite right—the idea floating at the edge of his perception was more like—

               _Witness_.

               Luke raised his light, trying to make out a shape in the endless dark.

               “Who are you?” he called. “What am I supposed to see?”

               There was no answer. The light in his hand flickered, pulsing a nervous, staccato rhythm.

               “There’s something I need to see,” he told it. “I won’t be able to leave until I know what’s making this place so—empty.”

               He pushed forward, following the distant beacon—a pulsing sense of not-rightness at the heart of the storm.

* * *

 

               Ezra landed with a jarring thud, his face pushed in the burning-hot grit of the lava bank. He coughed, feeling the cinder-laden hot air burn his lungs, his mouth coated in ash. The wind tore at his face, stinging his eyes, and he crawled blindly towards Kanan.

               “Stay close,” heard Kanan rasp, and Ezra grasped his arm. They fought the wind, trudging through the piles of ash and burning sand. It was so hot—the air rippled with the heat, making far away shapes seem like nothing but a shimmering mirage. Ezra squinted against the burning gale, but couldn’t make out much through the haze—only what seemed to be dark ashy plains and distant black mountains, all cut through with rivers of fire.

               “What is this place?” Ezra wheezed. Kanan didn’t answer.

               The fought their way forward, leaning against each other for support The found Ahsoka, kneeling in the ash, bent over and wracked with coughing—she took Kanan’s grasp with one hand, the other covering her mouth as they hauled her to her feet.

               “Obi-Wan,” she forced out, her voice ragged. “We have to find him first.”

               They heard Obi-Wan before they found him—the thin shouts of “Anakin!” carried on the wind, nearly lost in the sound of howling find and roaring flames. He stood with his hands cupped around his mouth, hoarsely dragging out each syllable in a long, plaintive call: “A-na-kin!”

               “Obi-Wan—“ He started when Ashoka clasped him by the shoulder, so absorbed in finding Vader he had forgotten he wasn’t alone in his mission.

               “We have to find Anakin!” he shouted. “We cannot stay here—we’ve gone too far—too deep—“

               “Too deep—?!”

               “Vader was forged here—“ Kanan stiffened at those words, but Ezra couldn’t see why. “Where the fragments of his darkness coalesced—we should have not been able to reach this far—“

                “Is Luke here?” Kanan shouted, shielding his eyes.

               “He can’t be—Anakin would never let him see—“ Obi-Wan stopped. They heard it as well—a wild, animal shrieking.

               “There—!” Obi-Wan took off, and with Ahsoka and Kanan following close behind, and Ezra fighting to keep pace on the shifting soil. He saw a distant figure on the shores of the river of flame, one hand silhouetted against the rising flames, reaching out for help—

                Ezra held back, even as Obi-Wan rushed to the bank where molten rock lapped dangerously close to the black sand. He recognized the figure—and yet he didn’t. This was not Anakin Skywalker, whole and healthy as he had met him in the mirror. If he hadn’t been shrieking and writhing, Ezra would have mistaken him for one of the many corpses that littered Vader’s dreams. He was pale, with long matted hair and dark shadows under his eyes—shadowed eyes set deep in his skull, swallowed by jutting cheekbones over sunken cheeks. He clawed at the sand (skeletal fingers and bloody, cracked nails) desperately, but unsuccessfully—Ezra could see now that the lava was swallowing him, its hold on his legs creeping up towards his torso.

               “I’ve got you,” Obi-Wan was saying, “I’ve got you, it’s alright, I’m going to help—“

               He took one arm, and Ahsoka grimly took the other, grabbing him under the armpit and heaving up onto the sand. Ezra saw a flash of pale skin through Vader’s ragged tunic, stretched over sharply exposed ribs. Vader thrashed in their grasp, and the places where his bare skin touched the burning sand came away burned.

               “Easy,” Ahsoka said, “easy—“

               But Vader broke free, rolling himself upright and trying to scramble away but unable to pull himself to his feet—Ezra could see that his limbs were charred where the lava had touched him, and he gagged—

               “It’s over—“ Obi-Wan was trying to explain. He crouched, trying to reach Vader’s eye level, holding his hands out in front of him in a gesture of peace. “It’s over, Anakin. It’s not happening again.”

               Vader paused, panting, chest heaving, watching them with wild eyes—Ezra could see they were yellow, rimmed in an angry red. He hunched over, wrapping his arms around his chest protectively.

               “You—can’t—be—here—“ he panted. “Not—here—“

               “You brought us here,” Obi-Wan was saying, carefully, “you wanted to bring me here—“

               He reached out, laying his hand on Vader’s forearm—but that proved to be a grave mistake. Vader screamed, jerking his arm away, and Ezra could see smoke rising from the mark’s Obi-Wan’s hand at made—saw them glow red, then burst into tongues of flame—

               “NO—!”

               Vader screamed, and the fire consumed his clothes—then his hair—he writhed in agony. “It hurts!” he wailed, over and over. “Stop! It hurts!”

               “It’s not real!” Ahsoka was shouting. She hovered behind Obi-Wan’s shoulder, desperate tobe heard over Vader’s wailing: “This isn’t real, stop—“ her voice shook, and Ezra could see that beneath the smudges of soot on her face she was pale. She balled her hands into fists, overcome by the nightmare playing out before her: “Stop—stop— _stop_ —“

               “Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s soft call could barely be heard over the screams and the crackle of flame. Vader clapped his hands over his ears and screamed as flames wreathed his body, Ezra heard the crackle of burning flesh, smelled it, and thought he would be sick—

               “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said again, sounding heartbroken. “Look—“ he knelt down in front of Anakin, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of ashy sand. He held his cupped hands out to Vader, nearly under his nose, and Ezra could see there were blades of grass growing in the dead earth.

               “Look,” Obi-Wan said, again. “Don’t you remember?”

               Vader’s cries died in his throat the handful of grass—now thicker, greener, dotted with flowers—caught his attention. The flames subsided, then flickered into nothingness. He glanced up at Obi-Wan, warily, and leaned forward, running his fingertips along the blades.

               “I remember…” he said softly, “it was like a dream…” Obi-Wan’s hands were overflowing with flowers now, they spilled from his cupped and floated to the ground, where they ignited the ground in a riot of bright green. In an instant the world was changed—the skies were clear, the sun shone clearly, and they had been transported back to the green meadow where they had first encountered Vader.

               “I remember this place,” Vader said. He rolled his head back, stretched his arms out wide, as if he could drink in the sunlight. Ezra saw the patches of charred skin slowly close, fading to scars that melted back into the corpselike pallor of his skin.

                “I _like_ this.” Vader opened his eyes, as if noticing Obi-Wan for the first time. “You were there,” he said, slowly. He turned, cocking his head and examining Ahsoka, thoughtfully. “I remember now. You were all there with me. It was…” he trailed off.

               “It was _good_.”

               Kanan and Ezra exchanged a glance. There was something wrong—something more wrong than the dead Temple or the desert of monsters. It was Vader’s eyes—they were strangely vacant, in a way that made Ezra’s stomach drop.

               “That’s right,” Obi-Wan said, reassuringly. “Do you remember trying to call us?”

               His smile vanished. “I called and called,” he said, darkly. “I cried out and no one came. Nothing ever changes.” He glared at them. “I’m always alone here. No one hears me.”

               “That’s not true,” Ashoka said, stepping forward. “You’re—“

               “NO ONE!” Vader screamed, making them all start. “I’m alone in the dark! It’s dark and I’m _always_ cold!

               The realization was like an icy hand around his heart, making the blood run cold in his veins—that Vader, left alone in the ruins of what he had destroyed with nothing but the ghosts of those he had killed, had begun to lose his grip on reality. His ordeal, imprisonment, and illness was corroding his reason, accelerating his twenty-year long decline into madness.

               They hadn’t defeated Vader by stripping away his armor, his purpose, his discipline—they had unleashed him.

               “Maybe I don’t want you here,” Vader was saying, sullenly. He eyed them, one by one, stopping at Ahsoka. “Maybe I don’t like you at all.”  

               “Listen to me,” Ahsoka said, calmly. “None of this is real—we can’t leave. We’re dreamwalking, and you have us trapped—“

               But Vader wasn’t listening. He rose to his feet, his face twisted in a truly frightening expression of hate, fixed solely on Ahsoka. “You turned your back on me,” he said. “I was your master. I was going to protect you.”

               Ahsoka seemed taken aback by this accusation. “What—?”

               “I thought you were _dead_ ,” he spat at her, his rage mounting. “I thought you were dead, and you _let_ me think that—it _hurt_ to think that—“

               “I—“ Never had Ezra heard Ahsoka sound lost for words. She seemed mystified. “I was sixteen and—“

               “They take things from me,” Vader snarled. He started to pace around them in a slow, predatory circle, ranting. “They gave you to me to punish me, but I loved you so they tried to take you away,” Ezra shook as Vader passed by him, feeling the Force displaced in huge waves of crackling energy. He was going to die here—die at the hands of a madman.

               “But _you’re_ the one who left me,” Vader finished, ominously

                “I had to go,” she pleaded. “I couldn’t stay—“

               “You _left_ me,” the words were low, grating, almost feral. Vader’s eyes glowed with furious hate.

               “I didn’t—“ Ahsoka took an involuntary step back, as if repelled by the poison in Vader’s voice.

               “You left me,” he repeated, with a smoldering fury. “Everyone _leaves_ me.” He swung, turning to Obi-Wan: “and you left me! You left me there to _burn_.”

               “No,” Obi-Wan said, sadly, “Anakin, listen to me—“

               “YOU TAKE THINGS FROM ME!” Vader shrieked. He bore down on Obi-Wan, standing nearly nose-to-nose with him, spit flying from his mouth. “Padme was dying and you wouldn’t let me save her! You took her and you took our baby!”

                “No one could save her—” Obi-Wan started, but Vader cut him off.

               “You took our baby!” Vader was building up to a fever pitch. “You let me burn—I could have saved her, but you took that power from me—I was burning you wouldn’t let me die—I woke up and she was gone, it was all gone—“

               “Anakin, please, listen to me—“

               “You left me! You left me alone! You left me alone with the Emperor!” Vader hurled the accusations as if they were stones, his rage dissolving into hysterics.

               “The Emperor—“ Kanan repeated, dumbly, and a dawning look of horror crossed Obi-Wan’s face.

               “I don’t like him! I don’t want him to come here anymore!” Vader was screaming. “He finds me! He hurts me! I _hate_ him!”

               After all that they had seen and endured traveling through the wasteland of Vader’s mind, it seemed as though this would be the encounter that broke Obi-Wan. His expression crumpled, devastated and defeated.

               “He’s not here,” Ahsoka tried, though she seemed almost shellshocked by Vader’s outburst. “He doesn’t know where we are.”

               “I’m always alone, but I’m never alone,” Vader seethed. “I _don’t_ like it.” He glowered at her, folding his arms across his chest—almost petulantly. He stared at them from a long moment, silently glowering.

               “But the Emperor is my only friend,” he finally admitted, with great reluctance. “He’ll never leave me.” His face fell, as if thinking about the truth of those words brought him pain.  

               “He isn’t,” Obi-Wan said, his voice weak. “I’m here.”

               Vader glowered at him. “You hurt me,” he said, sullenly. “You left me alone with him.”

               “If I never would have,” Obi-Wan pleaded, earnestly. “Anakin, if I had known—what he had planned for you, I swear, I never would have let him take you—I never would have left you alone to begin with.”    

               Vader ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth, rolling these words over in his head. “Is that true?”

               “Yes,” Obi-Wan answered, fervently. “Of course it is.”

               “Would you have let me die?” Vader asked. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a plea for indulgence. Obi-Wan fought for composure.

               “It never would have come to that,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “I would have protected you from the beginning.”

               “And now?”

               “Whatever it takes to make things right again,” Obi-Wan promised, fervently.

               “Then will you stay?” Vader sidled closer, reaching out as if to touch Obi-Wan, then pulling away, suspicious. “Do you _promise_?”

               “I swear to you,” Obi-Wan vowed, “I’ll be at your side from now on.”

                Vader smiled—with genuine joy and childish cruelty that was their only warning. He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist—

               Obi-Wan and Ahsoka staggered under the weight of the gold collar that appeared around their necks, and Vader yanked on their golden chains, dragging them to him. “You’re not allowed to leave,” he said, sing-song. “You promised me. You promised me I didn’t have to be alone in here.”

               “No--!” Kanan started, but staggered as Vader reached out his other hand and captured both him and Ezra.

               “I’ll keep you, too,” he declared. “I don’t like it when its cold. I don’t want to be alone. It _hurts_ me.”

               “Anakin, listen to me,” Ahsoka gasped. “You can’t keep us here. You’ll kill us.”

               “Everyone leaves. The hurt me and they leave me,” Vader crooned, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek. “They die. Don’t they know I can save them? No one has to die. They just won’t _listen_ to me.”

               “Please,” Ahsoka begged. “You have to wake up. This isn’t real!”

               Vader scowled. “You can’t take back a promise. I want you to stay. I didn’t have anything I wanted, and now I do.” He tilted his head, in a grotesque parody of a sullen child. “I can protect you if you stay. I want that. Don’t you?”  

                “Please, Anakin,” numbly, Ezra wondered if Ahsoka was taking her last chance to make peace with her past before she died. “This is only a dream. You’re very, very sick right now, and you’re dreaming.”

               “But—“ Vader looked at her, uncertainly. “We never speak like this in the dream…you said you would stay...”

               “You abducted her,” Kanan said, shakily. “You’ll kill us if you make us stay here.”

               Vader blinked, letting the words sink in—then his face twisted in anger. “Maybe I will,” he snarled. The grass beneath his feet began to brown, a circle of dried devastation eating into the lush green meadow.  “Maybe I _will_ keep you here. I’m tired of this—I’m tired of waking up and being alone—“

               “Anakin—“ Obi-Wan started, but Vader pulled sharply on chain to silence him.

               “It hurts to go out there!” he declared, “so I don’t think I will! I want you to be with me, right here, when its all over—I want you next to me…”

                “Listen to yourself!” Ezra exploded. “You selfish monster!”

               Vader turned and blinked at him—as if he hadn’t quite known he was there. Then he bared his teeth in a bestial snarl.

               “I deserve this,” he seethed. “I _want_ this. I wanted this for fifteen years and now its _mine_ —“

               “Things won’t go back to the way they were,” Obi-Wan was frantic. “But if you let us go we can work together, we can make it better—“

               “IT’S TIME FOR THE THINGS I WANT,” Vader was beyond reason. He was awful to behold, yellow eyes wide and poisonous, silhouetted by storm clouds that choked the once-blue sky. “You said I couldn’t be a Jedi because I _wanted_ things—but I don’t care! I don’t care about that anymore— I’m tired of hurting! I’ll take what I want! You can’t stop me!”

               Vader panted, and his chest heaved with effort, and Ezra knew where he had seen the frantic look in Vader’s eye before—it was the madness of a starving animal. He couldn’t be reasoned with.

               “I wasn’t supposed to have anything!” Vader howled. “I gave it up—I tore myself apart again and again—and nothing ever got any better! It never stops! I don’t care about the Galaxy anymore— I want this, and I’ll _have_ it!”

               It was hopeless—but Ezra could try.     

               “You want to—to live out your insane fantasy so bad, you’ll kill your son!” Ezra shouted. Vader froze. His eyes went wide.

               “My…son…” he said, slowly, as if not quite comprehending.

               “Luke,” Kanan said, quickly. “Luke is here, and he’s in danger. Do you remember where he is?”

               “My son,” Vader was saying, looking down. “Padme’s baby. Luke is here? He should not be here.” There was a peal of thunder from the storm clouds, a distant flash of lightning. “He favors her—he is so small—it isn’t safe for him—“

               “Where is he, Anakin?” Ahsoka pressed. “Where have you taken Luke?”  

               “I—“ Vader suddenly looked upward, his face frozen in fear.

               “Luke—!”

* * *

 

               It was truly dark here—Luke’s tiny sphere of light didn’t reach the ground anymore; even as it pushed valiantly against the void, it only managed to illuminate about a half of meter in front of him at best. The wind pushed against Luke, as if it could push him all the way back to safety, but he struggled on, he was so close—

               So close to something _horrible_ —

               He smelled it first—the stomach-turning stench of rot. Nothing really rotted on Tatooine, not naturally, but once he’d found a cave with the barest puddle of water, fouled with the body of a decaying womp-rat and the smell was like that but somehow worse, something unnatural—

               As if the rotting thing were somehow still _alive_ —

               He took another step, but his foot sank into—something soft, horrible, and he retreated, a hand clasped over his mouth to keep himself from being sick. He prodded the ground in front of him, carefully picking his way on the firmest places, making his way slowly, inexorably closer—

               There was something growing in the darkness—not a green plant like Luke had learned about the on the holonet, but something dark and twisted, with tendrils that sank into the mists—that was rotting everything it touched. It—pulsed, like a heart, mottled with the green and grey of something dying, and yet it thrived.

               “What are you?” Luke asked. His words brought the gale to a halt, and suddenly everything was quiet—too, unbearably quiet, and the horrible dark shape split open in the middle—

               No, it opened its mouth—

               Something was coming out of the opening, something even worse than the rot-monster. It was wraithlike, with long-fingered hands and cruel curving claws, a mouth full of teeth. The light in his hand extinguished, and he was alone in the dark with the horrible, hungry, thing—

               _How terribly interesting_ , the thing said without words, smiling with its mouth full of teeth. _What is this?_

               Luke was not afraid of anything—but he was afraid now, more terrified than he had ever been in his life. He had to get away from the thing before it touched him—if it touched him he would never leave this place. Luke turned, opening his mouth to scream, but someone grabbed him from behind, holding him tight, and he couldn’t. He felt the strong hold of arms around him, and wanted to wail—

               “Shhh,” a soft voice said. It wasn’t the voice of the creature. Luke dared to look up, but quite make out of the face of benefactor in the darkness. “We must be quiet, little one.”

               Luke heard the creature shuffling, exploring the darkness, calling for him—but its gaze seemed to pass over him, wrapped in the cloak of the strange man—his savior. Luke wrapped the cloak around his hand, felt the soft homespun cloth of the stranger’s tunic—he thought it was familiar somehow, but couldn’t say.

               “I will always keep you safe, Luke,” the man whispered. “As long as I can, I will protect you from him. You must never, ever listen to him, do you understand?”

               “No,” Luke answered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “Who are you? What—?”

               “Our time is short,” the man said, “you will leave this place—but we will always be with you.”

               “But—“

               “The time is now,” the man said. “Run—run, and I will keep him here. Go, and don’t look back. Run!”

               Luke took off, running blindly into the darkness with no light to guide him. He heard a terrible shriek, a sound like continents grinding together, like stars becoming hotter and hotter until they burned. He disobeyed the man’s instruction, glancing over his shoulder—the man was tall and strong, with long curly hair the fell past his shoulders and a handsome, well-defined face—he turned, and Luke saw a flash of blue eyes—

               “Luke! Run!”

               The man from the picture—

               Luke saw a flash of the creature behind the man and ran even faster than before, crashing through the mist, hearing the howling sound behind him.

               _LUKE_ —

               He heard his name, spoken as one but what sounded like unnumbered wailing voices. He started, tripped—

               Fell—

               And then everything was dark.

* * *

 

               Ezra landed with a crash—except he didn’t land, he didn’t crash, he only started as he sat up—

               _A dream_ , he thought, his heart pounding, adrenalin and relief mingling in his veins. _A dream. It was all only a horrible dream—_

               But he saw looked around and saw Kanan jerk awake, and Obi-Wan next, and he realized it had not quite been a dream.

               “Ezra!” Hera stood, from where she had been keeping a vigil at their bedside. “You’re alright—“

               “Anakin—“ Obi-Wan stumbled to his feet, pushing past Hera. “Anakin—“

               “Luke,” Kanan nudged Luke gently, but the boy only turned over, mumbled and went back to sleep. “I think he’s fine,” Kanan said, slowly. “He’s not trained—he may take longer to come back than we did.”

               That was a relief—though, knowing Vader, it was probably too soon to know the lasting damage. Ezra turned to where Obi-Wan stood at Vader’s bedside, holding his unmasked face in his hands.

               “Anakin,” he said, “can you hear me?”

               Vader’s eyes moved beneath his closed lids, and his face screwed up for a second—then his eyes flew open with a gasp and his whole body tensed, his back arching off the bed.

               “Anakin--!”

               Vader stayed like that for what seemed like an endlessly long moment—then he was released, collapsing back onto the bed, breathing heavily. Ezra should have sworn the light in the room darkened for a moment, and that he felt something brush past him, leaving cold air in its wake.

               “What was that?”

               Obi-Wan hovered, nervously at Vader’s side. Vader, breathing open mouthed, stared at the ceiling, eyes wide. He turned, leveraged himself up, and gazed solemnly around the room.

               “The Emperor knows you are here,” he announced, gravely. “My master is coming.”  


End file.
